For Want of a Better King
by CoolChica87
Summary: Arya Stark joins her father in the capital once he is named the new Hand of the King, but ends up delving too deep into the corruption of the capital. To set the kingdom to rights she must uncover secrets, escape, love, lie, sacrifice, and kill. But can she bring honor and justice to her family name without losing herself?
1. Chapter 1

A Better King, A Better Man

Author's Note: So this is a slightly alternate universe. Arya, wild only daughter of the Starks, betrothed to her sickly cousin Robyn of the Vale, is sent to a Sept as a girl to be educated as a lady. When the old Hand of the King dies and her father is named the new Hand, she goes to protect him, but only ends up digging herself deeper into lascivious court politics as she tries to set the kingdom to rights. To do that she must uncover secrets, fall in love, lie, steal, sacrifice, and kill. But can she bring honor and justice to her family name and still get a happy ending?

What Kind of Life, What Kind of Lady?

Arya

She grew up in the North, closed off from the rest of the world, hidden away. Her father was Lord Ned Stark, Warden of the North, and her own personal hero. To her, and many who met him, he was the most honorable man that ever lived. He was a busy man, running Winterfell, raising her brothers to follow in his footsteps, and so she never saw him as much as she'd like. While he was teaching her brothers archery, sword fighting, proper riding, and hand to hand combat, she was stuck inside studying and learning courtly manners. She studied history and geography harder than any of her other subjects, and could almost picture herself in Bravos, Essos, or Dorne.

She spent most of her formative years with her mother, a stern woman who insisted her daughter be perfect. Arya learned to be a proper young lady, tutored to be courteous, graceful, supportive, submissive, and beautiful. Well, she was taught, but it didn't really sink in. She was pretty, with a heart-shaped face, freckled pink skin, grey eyes, and dark brown hair. They said she would be more beautiful than her mother, and that she took after her aunt, but talk like that always made her uncomfortable. And her mother would quickly change the subject if she was within hearing. Eventually she was told the truth, about the promise made, the one that would eventually bind her to her sickly little cousin in The Vale. She had never met Robyn Arryn, or been to The Vale, but that didn't seem to matter at all. Because of that, she dreaded becoming a woman and receiving her moon's blood. She claimed openly that she hated being a lady, would never marry, and that no power in The Seven Kingdoms could make her.

But, she was a happy child all in all, and couldn't dwell on the future forever. Eventually she figured out how to avoid her lessons and sneak out of unpleasant tasks, usually in favor of spending time with Jon, her favorite brother. Admittedly, she had more freedom than most highborn ladies were allowed, but always to a point. While she could ride horses, she had to ride sidesaddle and she couldn't go anywhere alone. She did it anyway. She was allowed to read, except the more bawdy poetry. She could play in the mud, but only until her clothes got too dirty. Which was always. She could stay up late and sit with the men in the hall, but only until the jokes got too rowdy. She heard quite a bit though.

She grew up stubborn, prone to tantrums, and hopeless at the womanly arts. But she was kind, clever, and treated everyone the same unless given reason otherwise. She was endlessly curious, and never backed down from a challenge if provoked. She could barely sew a basic stitch, let alone embroidery; she couldn't cook, and her High Valyrian was stilted at best. She had a decent singing voice though, was natural on a horse, and was second best only to Bran when it came to climbing. Despite the general disapproval, everyone would laugh upon retellings of her misadventures, in between stuffing roast chicken down her throat and gulping great mouthfuls of the ale she'd stolen from her brothers' cups.

She ate with her family and was watched like a hawk by her septa. Maester Luwin taught the siblings the important subjects; always from a different perspective, encouraging his students to put clues together and make their own conclusions. He singled out Robb a lot, which made sense because he would be Lord of Winterfell, but he was quite impressed with Arya and challenged her when he could. Theon usually said something stupid or gross, which had no bearing on the conversation. And Jon when he spoke, which wasn't often, was very insightful.

She had fun exploring Winterfell, reading, teasing and tickling Bran, playing with the direwolves, and following Robb and Theon around. Whenever she saw her father, he'd have a warm smile for her, ask her about her day, andlaugh at her antics. She loved him dearly, but she always felt he was more distant with her than her brothers.

But most often, she was with Jon. With Jon, she could talk about all the adventures she wanted to go on, all the things she wanted to experience. They made up new stories, some of which they would go on together, pretending to be brave knights, rangers, dragon riders, witches, and wildlings.

Her mother didn't approve. Well, she didn't approve of anything Arya did. But all ties with Jon were met with a deep scowl.

The day she finally received her moon's blood, a month before her thirteenth year; everything changed.

Catelyn, on a rare emotional outpouring, confided in her only daughter.

"So many men. Everywhere I look. But only one daughter. When I first had you, I knew the Gods had finally answered my prayers. Don't get me wrong, I love my boys, and thank all that will listen for their health and happiness, but a daughter. You are my blood, the only one who can understand... It's a heavy burden, I know. But I love you no less." That was the moment she felt closest to her mother. It would also be one of the last.

She saw her brothers practicing with wooden swords out through the window, and snuck out to watch. She couldn't run as fast with her dress, but she made it over in record time. Suddenly Jon and Theon started fighting, with Robb waiting nearby. And it was over quickly, not more than a minute after she arrived, Theon was flat on his back, with Jon breathing heavily from exertion and anger, his back tensed.

"Jon?" She looked to him and touched his arm, he relaxed slightly. Robb helped Theon up.

"For fucksake! I didn't mean nothing." Theon said, rubbing blood from his nose. "Can't you take a joke?"

"Relax, Jon. He's not saying anything that isn't true." Robb stated amiably. At that, she could guess exactly what the fight had been about. Jon ran off as he usually did, and Arya trudged after, but not before giving the other boys a reproachful look that actually looked a bit like Catelyn.

He had run to the Weirwood, it's where one or the other usually ended up when upset.

Once inside, she immediately felt the holiness of the ground, how ancient everything was. There was power here, omniscience.

He looked up when he saw her enter, then away. She sat down beside him.

"Robb was right, you really do get too sensitive about it." She said, but thought better of the tack as soon as she said it.

"What would he know about it? Or Theon? Or you?" And he wouldn't look at her, the same grey eyes staring at some invisible point on the ground.

"Nothing. But I don't see what the big deal is. It doesn't matter a whit to me. The only person bothered by your being a bastard, is you."

"Really? You think Lady Catelyn isn't bothered by me?"

"Well." She had noticed her mother's attitude towards him and found it unfair, how could the woman be so warm to her own children, and sweet kind Jon simply an annoyance? "Father loves you, just the same as Robb and Bran."

"That's not true." He says and kicks a pebble with his boot.

"Well, he loves you a hell of a lot more than Theon, so there's that." He laughs at that.

"Stop trying to make me feel better." He says, a hint of a smile remaining on his face.

"I won't then. I'll tell you how stupid you were for getting into a fight with Theon of all people. You're better than that. I mean at least pick someone who is more a challenge. Me, for example."

"If I fought you, little sister, I would surely lose." His smile is bigger. "I kicked his ass though."

"You did." She agrees with a smile. "Hey, maybe you broke his nose permanently." And they both laugh to imagine it.

He says he's ready to go back and apologize, but she opts to stay there, enjoying the peace of the Weirwood, liking the sensation of protection. It would all be ripped away that very night.


	2. Life in Winterfell

Chapter 2: The Sept

Arya

Now that Arya was a woman, officially, she was to be sent off to The Sept of the Seven, a sisterhood of women devoted to the New Gods, shunning all contact with men, and a safe haven for girls. While her mother claimed it was for her own good, to give her perspective, to force grace and modesty into her, she suspected it was a punishment. An attempt to break her.

Her mother still followed The Seven, but The Starks held to the Old Gods. Furthermore, Arya resented being forced to do anything against her will, and felt nervous to leave the sanctuary of her homeland. She threw a fit, the likes of which none of them had ever seen. But Catelyn held firm. There were tearful goodbyes, promises to write weekly, and general dismay. Nymeria was not allowed to come, a travesty as far as Arya was concerned. Worst of all, Jon refused to come wish her a proper goodbye, sulking in the Godswood instead. That was the first time her heart broke. All in all, it felt to Arya like a death sentence.

But there was one upside; she would have the chance to spend time alone with her father, who would see her there safely; learning about his past, and connecting with him the way her brothers did on hunts and important duties. On the road, she wasn't a daughter he had to keep at a distance; she was like any other of his sons. And for this trip alone, no one would criticize her for slouching or leaving her hair uncombed.

Whenever they settled for the night, she watched her father and his men start the fire and clean rabbits for supper. After a few nights of watching, she was allowed to help, under his supervision, receiving advice here and there. They heard a few far-off howls in the night, wolves from deep in the woods. The guards tensed, but not the Starks, they only smiled at each other. She was enjoying the trip immensely, and told her father so.

"I think I like sleeping out on the road. The sky is so big, and it smells so green."

"I'm glad you're here with me sweet girl, I will miss you." As she looked into his large grey eyes, eyes like her own, she saw how sad he looked.

Arya wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

"Then don't make me go. Bring me back. Tell mother I'm better off in Winterfell." She pleads. Her father only sighs.

"You don't understand, Arya. I don't want to send you away any more than you want to go. But your mother is right. It's different for girls. Harder in a way. You have to learn that somehow, some way. The Gods know I can't stomach it. If it were up to me I'd let you run around filthy through the woods. But it's not the way of things. We all have our duties, our responsibilities. I've mine as well. Just, try to make the best of it, yeah."

And she doesn't argue with him again, not wanting to ruin the fragile perspective they'd just gained on one another. There was no point in fighting. She knew too that most likely, when she'd served her time at The Sept, she'd be shipped off to her cousin in The Vale. This could be her last free moment as a Stark. Winterfell well and truly behind her.

Parting from her father was tearless, determined to show him her strength and not have him remember her as a weak child. /he hugged her close, wished her well, and left her there.

In the Sept, there was women everywhere the eye could see, dressed in white habits, all hair covered, each intent on their tasks, busy ants put to work.

They put her to work, scrubbing floors at first. She took too long. Then, helping in the kitchens, where she found she couldn't cook anything passable, and the laundry where she turned a few dozen white habits gray. The Sisters didn't scold her; they just came up with new tasks for her. Next, taking care of the orphan girls, given her education. She loved the girls, and managed the patience to teach them reading, and music, but she found it difficult to instruct them in their prayers, the words not wanting to move past her lips. Try as she might, she couldn't make herself believe in their teachings, and had to fake sentiment at mass. These were not The Gods of her father. The Head Sister noticed, and suggested another task.

Once she proved herself willing, they let her help with the midwifery. She began by watching, all the blood and screaming. When she didn't faint or run off, they deemed her able. Then they let her feel around, pointing out different aspects, asking for observations. They brought out powders, teas, and salves and had her smell each then demonstrate their uses; warn her away from certain poisons, laxatives, and hallucinogens. She saw death and miracles alike. Anyone can die, there is no curse or secret, no way to tell who or when. Some women came to undo their pregnancy; the Sisters said it was far preferable to the woman accidentally killing herself. She learned the secrets of herbs and elixirs for preventing a baby, all the while being lectured about the consequences of lying with men. Those pitiful women's faces swearing that he'd promised forever, the sorrow of giving the baby away or worse when there were complications. She was a Lady, expected to remain pure until her wedding, she would never think of ruining her family's honor for a moment's mistake. She couldn't see how these women could be so stupid either, but she was only thirteen, and just barely flowered.

Actually, despite its intent as a punishment, she quite liked her time there. She was meant to have disobedience beat out of her, and she did learn obedience, but not the way her mother wanted. The work was grueling, but rewarding, and not exactly what Arya would call lady-like.

Around the age of fourteen, news from the capital rocked Westeros. It even made its way to The Sept. The place was abuzz with talk of The Hand's death. Jon Arryn, her father's friend, her betrothed's own father. There was much speculation as to the means. It was said he was poisoned, but the next question was why.

Though she couldn't care less about any of that when she learned the last part of the news; Ned Stark was named to take his place.

The Sisters gave her a choice, to stay on amongst them, rising through the ranks, and perhaps become head of their order one day; or involve herself in the problems of The Realm. While terrifying, she loved the idea of it being her own choice.

In the end, she chose to go help her father. Many of the girls cried, and a few of the sisters said it was a shame. Part of it was about honor, upholding a family promise, but Arya felt the Sept was not for her. She couldn't hear the New Gods speaking to her, calling her to their service. So off she went, putting up a brave front of the perfectly schooled lady her mother hoped she had become. But knowing, she never would be.

The sisters had quite a taste for wine, so she didn't have to wait long for an entourage. She hitched a ride with some merchants passing through. They thought she was an actual sister, and she didn't disabuse them of that error. As a young lady, it was not safe on the road, but as a holy sister; she was afforded respect and a fair amount of distance. The men were from everywhere in the seven kingdoms, and some from across the sea. They told her of their lives, and she almost felt as though she had lived them. So many adventures locked away in her head, and she meant to live all of them. What was it about the road that was always so freeing? She felt different outside the walls of Winterfell and The Sept, and people treated her differently too.

Though she felt nervous to enter the _viper's nest _that was the capital, she knew her father needed her. If Lord Arryn was murdered, the next Hand might not be far behind. Something was telling her to go too, voices. She might have imagined it to be the Sacred Seven speaking to her, as the Sister's sometimes claimed, but no. All that time in the Holy Sept, and she'd felt nothing, not one divine touch. And now, she felt a tangible pull directing her South to King's Landing. The Old Gods had plans for her, and she would listen.


	3. Court Life

Chapter 3: Court Life

Arya

The Gates were looming and suffocating, and the air inside was stifling. After over a week on horseback and making camp on the road, she was ready for civilization. Crowds of people wandered this way and that, stopping to look at pieces of jewelry or a vase. Shouts erupted in Lysian, and colorfully dressed boys did flips and jumps to the applause of a few. It smelled of spices baking in the sun, and piss and shit as well. She couldn't breathe, and flicked her eyes in every direction, memorizing every detail to include in her report back to Winterfell.

The entire court came out to greet the small retinue, minus the merchants. The palace was impressive, you could almost imagine how every stone was placed, how many people it took to build, how many years. King Robert Baratheon was at the front of all. He was big and fat and black bearded. She didn't find him terribly impressive with his tunic stretched so tight over his belly and the way he mostly waddled when he walked. But he was huge, and he was laughing as he embraced her father joyfully, so she decided he couldn't be so bad.

The Queen was beautiful, blonde, tall, and delicate. She looked the picture of regality, with a look of boredom and distaste upon her lovely features. Arya thought that anyone who worried so much about proving themselves with fine silks and jewels probably wasn't spending enough time doing things that were actually important. Her own mother always looked nice, but she didn't have to try so hard.

The Prince was next; he took after his mother in looks as well as temperament, despite his medium height. It was obvious he didn't want to be there, and had a sneer on his fine face. Yes, he was handsome, but in a fragile way. She grew bored quickly, and continued her perusal.

Ser Jamie Lannister, the Queen's brother and famed warrior cut quite a dashing figure, he seemed more a King than Robert, but clearly she knew far too little about royals and what use they were.

The other Lannister was quite fascinating, little and disproportionate, eyes mismatched, and hair even lighter than his siblings, practically white. He however had good cheer and smiled at all present, seemingly enjoying the sweltering heat.

Lady Catelyn had picked out the perfect dress for the occasion; black for mourning, and Arya herself had done a simple braid in response to the sweat on her neck.

After her father, it was her turn to be introduced, Arya executed a curtsy the way her mother had drilled into her, and gave a respectful "It is an honor, Your Grace."

The King stared at her, jaw hanging open. She was unsure if she'd done something wrong. She looked to her father for answers, but he just shook his head sadly.

"Lyanna." The King muttered hauntedly, looking through her more than at her.

"No, it's Arya, Your Grace."

The King shakes himself out of it, breaks his gaze away, and demands that her father come to a small council meeting immediately.

The Queen and Prince showed them the proper respect as well and exchanged pleasantries, but they were over quickly. Ser Jamie kept silent, and the imp, Lord Tyrion, came around and formally introduced himself to her, bowing theatrically, and amorously kissed her hand, commenting on how she was a truly striking beauty and how all of King's Landing was sure to be enchanted with her. She smiled and thanked him sincerely, though couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with the flattery. She remembered her mother's words, and the faces of those women desperate to undo past mistakes.

After being shown her room, Arya bathed and dressed with the help of a serving girl. She wouldn't shut up about the Queen's outfit and the handsome prince, but she couldn't find it in her to tell her to shut up, instead remarking that she would prefer to dress herself and dismissing the talkative thing.

The feast, which Arya had been looking forward to, ended up being a tense affair. The King flirted shamelessly with kitchen maids and whores alike, all within view of his Queen, making lewd comments to her father, who japed back, but was clearly uncomfortable. A Lady Arya didn't recognize tried to engage the Queen in small talk, but made no progress. Arya found herself between the Lannister brothers, she didn't get the chance to speak much, but listened intently to their stories and good-natured ribbing. They acted the way she did with her own brothers, and it made her truly homesick for the first time. She thought about what she would be doing in Winterfell at that moment, perhaps wrestling with the direwolves with Bran, stealing lemon tarts with Winterfell's ward, or captive depending on whom you asked, Theon Greyjoy. Or most likely she would have snuck out to go explore with Jon. She missed him terribly already.

She was interrupted from her musings by the Queen.

"You look lovely, my dear. Your hair is so much nicer now." The Queen remarked, obviously a bit drunk. The serving girl the Queen insisted on had done Arya's hair the same way as the Queen. Of course she'd like it.

"Thank you, your Grace."

"Truly you are quite pretty. My husband seems to think so." She took another drink from her goblet and gestured with her eyes to the King. Sure enough, the King was looking her way, but then got distracted once more by the dark haired prostitute wriggling on his lap.

"I don't invite his attention, Your Grace, nor is it welcome." Arya decided to be blunt.

The Queen chuckled and nearly spit out her wine, but didn't get one spot on her light green dress.

"Oh, of that I've no doubt. But that's hardly the point. We women are often blamed for the things men do. And we are most certainly the ones to pay the consequences." The Queen daintily wiped the wine off her chin with a table cloth.

"Yes, I take your meaning." Arya tread carefully. She received a shrewd look in response.

"Do you? Have you flowered yet?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And yet you are not yet wed. Perhaps you could yet marry my son." The Queen raises one perfect eyebrow in question.

"I am betrothed to my cousin Robyn Arryn, Lord of the Vale, but the wedding will wait until we are both old enough." She had never been gladder in her life for the arrangement with her cousin.

"A pity. A cousin is it? You will only get lovelier, and it will only make things worse. You'll see." The Queen switched to water and began chatting once more with the unidentified noble woman.

Arya took that as her cue, searched out her father's eye, and made a motion to signify her intent to leave. Lord Stark nodded his consent, mouthed goodnight, and returned his attention to the King.

Arya inconspicuously pulled out her chair and made her way to the exit. Before she could return to her room, someone blocked her path.

"Ah, My Lady, would you leave so soon, we've hardly had a chance to speak." Prince Joffrey smiled at her.

"My Prince. I'm sorry but I really am very tired, maybe a bit too much wine?" She had had only one cup, but he didn't know that.

"Ha ha ha. Women really shouldn't drink, they haven't the strength for it." She pretended to agree and tried to continue on her way.

"I would think it more a matter of wisdom than strength, My Prince, something men and women alike may easily lack."

He grabbed her hand and squeezed hard, much harder than necessary.

"Well, I suppose so, in their own way, women have their own kind of intelligence." She smiled in a way she hoped didn't convey her true disgust at his 'Princely Manners'.

He brought the hand he had not let go of to his lips and kissed her deeply on her pulse point, making her want more than anything to pull her hand back.

"As you say. Goodnight, My Prince."

His soft soft lips and flowery perfume made her feel as though she were choking on feathers. She managed to get her hand free only to have a guard take it instead, leading her to her chambers. The Prince was polite and well polished, but she had no idea what lay beneath. She would rather keep it far away from her. As he had looked up at her with sparkling green eyes, eyes like his mother's, she was reminded of Maester Luwin's whispered warning, '_The Red Keep is a nest of vipers._' He certainly seemed more a snake than a lion, even with the bright yellow hair.

She suddenly realized how lonely this place would be, and made a vow to help her father in any way possible.


	4. Court Life Continued

Chapter 4: Court Life Continued

Arya

The capital. The fierce fortress, once home to dragons, center of all Westerosi life. Peacocks prancing around, having lavish dinners, speaking in riddles, sick games, the false alliances, the betrayals, and the perversity had taught Arya more than she ever wanted to know about human nature, about what men were capable of. It was like pretending, playing the part of the Queen, that got her through.

She spent the first few months stuck in the Red Keep, sitting in on lessons with Tommen and Myrcella, sneaking in to see her father when she could, watching the Kingsguard practice in the yard from a secure hiding place, and trying to sneak out and explore the city. They kept close watch on her though, so she couldn't manage.

She did look around the castle, the library, battlements, towers, the drawbridge, and even a few hidden passages. She did her best to avoid the Queen, never saw the King, and luckily the Prince seemed preoccupied and so was completely uninterested in her apart from intimidating her that first night. Her father was always busy, in meetings with one lord or another, or meeting with petitioners, merchants, masons, sailors, or whoever else sought the King's ear and got the Hand's instead. This was quite fortuitous for the honest men, but the deceitful ones were disappointed with his rulings. She was impressed with his fair hand, the way he listened closely to both sides of an argument, explaining his decree clearly complete with reasons. Even when Arya was not sure if she agreed with his ruling, she admired the calm, confident way he delivered the edict.

Maester Pycelle was nothing like Maester Luwin, he was old and he acted old. He spoke too slowly and with too much pomp, Arya found it hard to pay attention to what he was saying, and even harder to take him seriously.

Renly was her favorite, he was good-natured like Tyrion, but was handsome in a way that made you want to be around him. No one disliked him, except maybe his own brother the King.

Varys was unsettling, she heard talk about how his balls were chopped off amongst the soldiers in the yard, and spent way too much time trying to picture it. Everyone said he was sneaky and untrustworthy, and Arya found that to be true. He usually spoke to people in such a way as to make them feel naïve, ignorant, and outmatched. But he had a tone of respect that seemed genuine when conversing with her father, and she appreciated that. Any man who saw the Northerner's worth was worth something in her book.

Lord Baelish, or Littlefinger, was an old friend of her mother's, and always smiled and doted on her when he saw her. He shared rumors about people at court, and the game for her was figuring out which statements were true and which were lies. He was small, unassuming, and always backed down from every confrontation, but he also had too much pride, and kept score of every little slight leveled against him. He was always happy to see her, a glowing look would enter his face, and she was reminded of a musician who also paid her too much attention.

One day she was up in the Tower of the Hand, but she had to wait because her father was meeting with Maester Pycelle. Her father looked pleased to see her, and motioned her to come in and wait. Pycelle seemed reluctant to speak in her presence, though Ned insisted.

"Yes, quite a tome. I can't imagine why he would bother with such a thing." He spread a book out on the desk.

"Thank you Maester, you can go now." He dismissed Pycelle, and they were alone.

"Is that… Did Jon Arryn read that book?" She tried to sound only mildly curious, while inside she was more than interested.

A History of the Great Houses: a Genealogy of the Great Houses

What a monster of a book, and so boring. Names, hair, skin color, eyes; lists of physical characteristics to mark each line. The Targaryans marrying brother and sister, her own betrothal to her cousin, what could he have wanted with that?

"According to Pycelle. I've no idea why though." Curious.

A few days later she went again to visit her father, only to find he had gone down to the city with Jory, and no one knew why. She took the time to read the book still laid open, reading about her own family lines, Arryn, Tully, Stark. Her father seemed to be looking at the Baratheon line. She went into a trance reading the monotonous writing, black hair, blue eyes, black hair, blue eyes, black hair…

Her concentration was broken by the arrival of a man in black. He was weathered, rough, with a scruffy black and gray beard and shifty eyes. The guard announced him as Yoren from the Night's Watch. Upon seeing the girl in the Hand's place, the guard looked unsure how to proceed.

"I've a need to speak with the Hand of the King." Yoren said.

"He's away, but will return shortly. You may leave us." She directed toward the guard. He bowed and left, and the crow looked at her strangely.

"You Stark's girl?" He asked.

"Yes, how did you?"

"You remind me of him."

"People sat I look like him. I don't much take after my mother."

"Aye. You got that same look a sizing people up. Smart but not sos you got to prove it right away, like."

"You're friends then?"

"Aye. I'd come once a year to pick up new recruits from the wall, and me and Ned would laugh over a pint." He smiled in remembrance.

"Is that what you need, more men to take the black? I'm sure my father will…"

"Aye, I need more men. But that's not all. I've news. There's Wildlings organizing, planning a run for the wall. The Kingdom needs to know." Wildlings? It gave her pause.

"And. Excuse me, but might you know any of the new recruits? Do you happen to know a Jon Snow? Is he alright?" She hadn't intended to ask, but when he began describing the situation at the Wall, she was worried.

It took a while, but eventually Jon had written back. He apologized for being a craven on her departure, and said he'd miss her for all time. She thought that was a sweet if strange sentiment until she read the rest, he had decided to join the Night's Watch. He said he would be a ranger like his uncle, and that he hoped one day to see each other again, though he doubted it. She was sad for him and his choice, knowing her own mother had had a hand in his decision, but not until now had she really felt worried.

"Ah, Jon. Yes, he's a right good lad. Doing fine. Fighting circles around the others." She was proud of him for that, but not surprised. It sent a pang through her heart though, sharp as an arrow.

"Good. Thank you. Oh, I'm sorry. Can I get you anything? Water, wine, food…"

"No girl, thanks just the same. It's the men I'll be needing." She thought about leaving a note for her father, or perhaps even staying around to wait, but then had a better idea.

"You'll have your men, I'll see to it personally." She told him with utmost conviction. He was silent for a time, then nodded his head.

"Thank you, m'lady. I'm happy to continue a long-standing tradition with such a fine family."

He left, not inviting her for a pint, and she smiled. Blood was so important in Westeros, most were defined by their family lines or lack thereof. She was an Stark, and to have someone see that, to trust her as capable, she felt a new world of possibility open up, one she intended to hold onto with all her might. Yes, many had told her she was beautiful, especially since her curves had grown more pronounced, they flattered her while devouring her with their eyes. She didn't like it, it made her feel naked, small. But the few times someone had noticed her intellect, had commented on it, encouraged it; those were her proud moments. That was how she wanted to be seen. And now it felt almost within her grasp, here of all places.


	5. The Sewers of Fleabottom

Side Note: She is betrothed to Robyn, but it's more alliance based than anything, not really part of a love triangle. As for bastards having a claim to the throne, well, maybe not really. But they could help determine the outcome of the war by publicly declaring their support to one of the more legitimate kings or queens. They could definitely bolster support for their chosen cause. To have one on your side could cause those on the fence to flock to your aid, increasing their numbers. Just a thought.

The Sewers of Fleabottom

Arya

She made it a point to go down to the dungeons to inspect the prisoners, claiming it was a mission of goodwill. She came with little breads filled with cheese. Yoren wanted men for the wall, and she would find him some, but she would also check to make sure it was their choice. The guards were skeptical, but allowed her through. It helped that she gave them each some bread as she passed.

Some of the prisoners whistled at her and made kissing noises, others loudly exclaimed their desire to 'fuck the shit out a' her' and she was almost sorry she had come. But she promised to undertake this task, and so she would. Lately she'd been doing more and more for her father, double checking numbers, proofreading public announcements, and organizing paperwork. And here she was doing legwork, a grand start in the dungeon; she wore a hood to cover her face, but it did not hide her figure.

She was nervous, but got down to business. She announced the offer with only a slight shake in her voice- 'Any man may choose to take the black.' Some were hesitant but most were anxious to leave the dungeon. She took names, asked backstories, made sure they truly wanted to take the black, and promised to notify and remaining kin if there were any.

In the far back were three men. One was missing part of his face, another had teeth that stuck out at odd angles, giving him a rat-like appearance. The third though, he had two toned hair, half white and half red, a dark crimson, with striking eyes, he sat calmly, and introduced himself formally.

"This man has the honor of being Jaquen Haq'ar. And what name could possibly come to signify the lovely girl before me?" He asked as he bit into a bread roll.

"I'm Arya." Not giving him a last name. She was put off by his courtesy.

"Well lovely girl, it is truly a privilege to gaze upon a face such as yours before being sent off to the icy wall, surrounded by men. And the bread is even warm." She had forgotten about keeping her hood in place.

He was so well spoken. She thought he'd do quite well against Varys, Tyrion, or Littlefinger in terms of riddles.

"They have good food at the wall. Do you mean to volunteer?" She clarified.

"Take the black or they take my head, not much of a choice really. But still a choice."

"Yes, I suppose." She didn't ask him any more questions, and left it at that. The other two agreed as well. And while most of the recruits weren't particularly promising in terms of valor, she had a good number pledged, and was glad to send word to Yoren.

That night she was invited to dine with the royals, she was pleased to see her father there as well, she was even seated next to him. For the occasion, she had chosen a dark green dress, the serving girl said it looked very nice with her hair.

The King was already mostly drunk, and grumbled about the pressures of the throne. Myrcella picked at her lemon butter trout with braised asparagus, she didn't like asparagus. The Queen asked her children what they learned in their lessons.

"We learned all about the rebellion of The Iron Islands. Why would they even try something so stupid?" Tommen asked, flabbergasted.

"They're impulsive, they lack the appropriate sense of consequence." Ned remarked.

"That's one way to put it. More balls than brains, is what I say. And that ward of yours, Theon. Is he as cocksure as the rest of them?" The King questions, pieces of something sitting in his beard.

"He is cocky, Your Grace, but a good lad. We raised him since he was small. He and Robb are like brothers."

"Like we were?"

"No, no two boys could get in as much trouble as we did." The King laughed heartily at that.

"You met the boy, didn't you girl? What did you think?" The King directed the conversation towards her.

"I don't think he's dangerous. He's not cruel, just stupid. I would imagine that would make for ineffectual rebellions." Ned smiles over at her for their shared assessment.

"I heard an interesting rumor about you today, My Lady. They say you went down to visit the dungeons." Queen Cersei interjects.

"Is this true?" Prince Joffrey asks. Arya panics internally, one wrong word and they can forbid her from any further involvement. She doesn't want to lose her newfound responsibility and purpose.

"What in the Seven Hells were you doing down there for?" The King bellows. Things are going down hill.

"She was completing a task for me. I asked her to help out with the recruitment list for the Night's Watch. She's been a great asset." Her father asserts.

"Well I won't have this sweet young creature exposed to such horrors, you will find a suitable replacement, I trust." The Prince orders, focusing on the Hand in the last.

"Of course My Prince." Ned agrees.

"Of course." Arya repeats, but inside is irritated. She had been pleasantly surprised when her father had covered for her, even though she hadn't expressly asked his permission, and she was going behind his back.

At the end of the meal, Arya made a point of following her father, she meant to thank him despite the outcome.

"Father. I, thank you for your quick thinking. I know I should have spoken with you about…"

"Nonsense. I saw how perfectly you wrote the ledgers, the care and detail you included, you're doing very well, I'm thankful to have one less thing on my plate. I was hoping you might continue with the work." She is taken aback.

"Of course, but what about the Prince?"

"Don't worry about him too much. He's not king yet, or maybe ever."

Arya looks around suspiciously, checking for possible ears. He probably hadn't meant it, but such words were treason.

"Be careful, Father. People are always listening. Did you know Varys has at least five spies amongst the kitchen staff alone?"

"And where'd you hear that?"

"From Littlefinger. He says Varys knows everything before you do. He might have told the Prince."

"I doubt it. The Eunuch is the one who told me about your extra activities, he seemed impressed. If anything, I'd be more worried about Lord Baelish." She agreed with him on that.

"I'm sure they all know. I'll just have to be more discreet." She smiles.

"Aye. Perhaps you can take care of a few more things for me, here and there. You've a head for numbers. I just don't think one can do all this. I've even more respect for Lord Arryn than ever before, I'm not so sure he was actually human. Would you mind? Taking on even more responsibilities?"

"No My Lord Hand, I would not mind." And for the first time she doesn't imagine a miserable future in The Vale, but instead, a pin of the Hand of the King on her breast. The first woman to hold such a position, one not based on marriage, and she could imagine girls across the kingdoms wondering if they too could one day be in the same place.

She hadn't seen her father in a few days. She was starting to wonder if he was avoiding her, though of course he was just busy. And so was she. There was a particularly nasty backup in the sewers near Flea Bottom, and she had been coming up with proposals, and was going to give a presentation on sewer schematics. Except when she got there, he was already flying down the stairs, in a hurry somewhere.

Out the door he went, and Arya followed him, determined to give that presentation. She was not going to throw hours of planning down the drain. She laughed out loud at her own joke. She stayed back just far enough to follow, but out of sight. When they reached a brothel, Arya was shocked. Not to be misunderstood, she had nothing against whores, and she had become somewhat desensitized to them from being around King Robert. But Ned Stark? She thought him the most honorable man she'd ever known. She decided she wouldn't tell her mother though, or anybody. Men.

Just then, a hand grabbed her, the other wrapping around to cover her mouth. She was dragged out of sight to behind the brothel. She kicked and screamed and bit, and she prayed to the Gods.

"For fucksake, girl!" The hands released her, and she came face to face with Ser Jory, Lord Stark's most trusted guard.

"Why did you have to grab me?" She straightens out her dress and bends to pick up the maps she'd dropped.

"Well what were you doing following us girl? You're not any good at it you know, didn't even try to be cautious. I saw you leagues back."

"What? I was definitely being sneaky." He tsks through his teeth.

"What do you want?"

"I wish to speak with my father. Perhaps I'll wait." He expels air out his nose in a huff.

"No, you won't. This ain't no place for you."

She sits down against the wall. Jory shakes his head and says 'fuck it.'

Ned Stark emerges soon after, and is surprised to see her there. He doesn't look guilty exactly, but he does seem cautious. She loses the nerve to scold him or ask him and instead says.

"I wanted to talk to you about a new sewer system."

"Arya, it's not what you think."

"It's none of my business."

"I swear it." He says it with such conviction that she instantly believes him. "It's to do with something else, never you mind."

"Does this have anything to do with the Genealogy Book?"

"What? How?" He sighs. "This could be dangerous, stay out of it alright?" And he kisses her brow. "Let's get back to the castle." She pulls out of his hold.

"I think I'll remain here, the blockage isn't far from here, I'll check it out myself."

"Blockage?"

"Yes, the sewers. Remember? I was supposed to present you with some possible solutions to the problem."

"Ah, yes, well. I'm a bit busy at the moment. Maybe tonight, or tomorrow then." And he's in a hurry to get away. No one cares about the sewers.

"Of course."

She does go to the sewer blockage, but doesn't really come up with any magical solutions, she's too busy pondering her father's secretive behavior. Lord Tyrion said the previous Hand had been acting the same way before the end. She did believe him. And both were looking at that book. She couldn't actually go in the brothel, if she did all of King's Landing would know about it. Lord Stark could explain away his presence, but she could not. She wouldn't push her father, she respected him too much, and didn't want anything to strain their relationship. She knew drawing attention to the brothel would shed a spotlight on him as well, so she would stay silent. Though she was disappointed he couldn't trust her. But, if Lord Stark knew, then chances were Varys would know, and Littlefinger as well. An hour later, she emerged from the sewers completely filthy and ready to return to the Keep, with the intent to dig harder.

Author's Note: Next Chapter- More intrigue, and hopefully Arya will figure this mystery out.


	6. A Hard Won Truth

Author's Note: Okay, here's the deal. Originally this was an Arya story, but I wanted to change the world, and I thought maybe it was too far away from the character we all love. However, now I'm thinking first instincts are best. So, it's back to Arya. Sorry for the confusion and annoyance. If you want to quit (I don't blame you, but don't), please reconsider. This story doesn't have to change much. I went back and fixed everything so it makes sense now, but you don't have to bother to go back, 'cause here's a quick summary:

Arya- so she's a Stark, obviously she has brown hair and grey eyes, and she's 14 at this point.

Obviously, no longer betrothed to Robb. Now, she's betrothed to her cousin Robyn of The Vale (not that crazy, Sansa is engaged to him later in the real books), but there is no way she will end up going through with it.

No Jon side of the love triangle, though he is her favorite brother and will definitely be in the story later.

Now the story will fit in with the books more closely, but still not exactly, so it has more longevity but also plenty of surprises.

I will use some stuff from the show, but it should fit well.

So that's it, I think it really won't change the past chapters much, and only add more possibilities. She was basically Arya all along. Plus, I think this story will get a lot more interest because of Arya (love her). Seriously, I apologize for the back and forth, no more. The story is set now, and I know exactly how it will end.

Sorry for the long gap between chapters, I also have another story that I'm working on called On the Way There.

I couldn't include Sansa because Arya is a bit of a compilation of them both in the story. She's still impulsive and strong-willed, but she does know how to be a lady, and unfortunately she doesn't know how to fight, YET.

I agree, marrying Robyn is basically incest, but it's more a plot device than anything (sorry to admit that), she WILL NOT end up with him. This will be Arya/Gendry eventually. Though I guarantee no happy endings.

Up ahead- more court intrigues for Arya; encounters with Cersei, Littlefinger, and Varys. Also, Ned needs to tell her what's what, or else she'll have to go find out for herself. She's a different kind of feminist, she's not a sword fighter, but she's clever, determined, and persuasive; and I'll do my best to make sure she's not too perfect; no one likes a Mary Sue. Read on, there all sorts of clashes of will and intellect ahead, and some romance.

A Hard Won Truth

Arya

When she emerged from the sewers covered in grime and human filth, she found a good many people watching the spectacle of her ascent. She asked a few some specifics on the issue; how long there had been a problem, if they had any possible solutions, and so on. Some ignored her, dismissing her immediately, a few even looked at her with scorn, however one older man answered her questions thoughtfully, and when she thanked him, he thanked her. And while she was frustrated with her lack of a solution, and her father's secrets, she felt her efforts had been appreciated, and so headed back for the castle in lighter spirits, the odor wafting off of her notwithstanding.

Before being able to clean up however, she came across Queen Cersei, and cursed her appearance and timing. The Queen took one look at her, choked a bit in disgust, and quickened her pace in her direction, purple robes brushing the surface of the fine palace tiles, leaving the guards to scurry after her.

"What is this?" She hisses at Arya, not standing too close, and careful not to touch her, she places an ivory hand delicately to her nose.

"An accident, Your Majesty." Best not to go into too much detail.

She sighs before saying, "This is unacceptable."

"I apologize, Your Majesty, I didn't mean to offend. I was just on my way to clean myself up."

"Clean yourself up from what, may I ask?" Though obviously she may ask, and has. Of course she expects an answer as well.

"I fell in some mud. It was really rather unfortunate." The Queen raises a single eyebrow in disbelief. Maybe Jory was right; she really wasn't very good at this.

"You, do not smell like mud." The Queen points out, red bow lips pursed in annoyance.

"Well, I'm not sure it was mud." She's sure it isn't.

She sighs, as though deeply pained. "Arya, this is about more than just today. You never seem to put enough effort into your appearance. Are you satisfied being merely plain? You have so much more potential than that." It's meant as a compliment, or so she thinks, though she does not take it that way. She has to dig her nails into her palm to keep herself from snapping. "You're very pretty, and as the daughter of The Hand of The King you must keep up a certain image. Do you understand?"

"I do, Your Majesty. I apologize for any embarrassment I might have brought upon you or my father." She crosses her fingers behind her back to offset the utter sincerity she successfully portrays.

"Yes well, you must do better. The prettier your smile, the better you bat your lashes, the more enticingly you display your curves, the nicer you smell, the less likely people are to smell the bullshit." The Queen says without emotion, and goes back the way she came, a gentle practiced sashay in her hips. Arya is left speechless.

After a thorough bath, which involved a painful scrubbing, she took greater pains to choose a new dress. She suddenly hated everything she owned. Cersei. She wanted to be angry with the regal woman, but found she could not. She wondered about the validity of her advice. The Queen was far cleverer than she let on; knew how to distract the eye, and say as much as possible without actually saying anything. Did she want to be like that herself? To be false, secretive, ornate? Every woman she'd ever met had told her that was a woman's strength, that her survival and 'success,' depended on it. She'd practiced it, thinking secretly that it would only be temporary, only in public. But the more you pretended, the more real it all became.

At the bottom of the bag she found the pair of trousers and a tunic she'd stolen from Bran, hidden so low she had forgotten she had even brought them. Fingering it lovingly, she felt something hard and heavy sequestered inside, folded up tight. Unwrapping it slowly, she felt tears come to her eyes. Inside was a little blade, a dagger, small enough for her hand, easily hidden.

"Oh, Jon." She whispered aloud between her tears, feeling fully for the first time how lost her carefree childhood actually was. How far away Jon, her blood, her family, and her soul really were. The adventures they'd dreamed up together were well and truly dead. To be a lady, she could never be a knight, a dragon rider, or a wildling. No matter what was inside, people would only ever see what was in front of them; a pretty, perfumed idiot.

But then she remembered the old man, a few teeth gone from his head, whitish hair wispy and uncombed, thanking her for her efforts, and she gripped the blade tight, tight enough to draw a drop of blood. No, she wouldn't let her dreams die. And she would see Jon again; she vowed it to The Old Gods and The New by the blood welling up in her palm. And with that she carefully wrapped the blade back up, placed it back in its place, and proceeded to continue getting dressed. She would look pretty, but she would never be an idiot.

No sooner had she crossed the hall than she ran into none other than Lord Petyr Baelish. She was startled, but did not show it.

"Ah, Lady Arya, so good to see you this afternoon. You're looking lovely, pink and fresh." She found that a strange comment, but didn't remark on it. The lovely redhead standing a few feet behind him and to the right did roll her eyes however.

"Good afternoon Lord Baelish." She greeted back.

"And tell me, what did you get up to this morning?" He asks her, angular eyebrows cocked. But she knows the difference between a genuine question and one where the answer is already known.

"I decided to explore more of the city. Really, quite enlightening." She kept the story as close to the one she told Cersei as possible.

"I'm sure. Tell me exactly, where did your 'explorations' take you? To the more unsavory parts of the city, or so I'm told." He wears a little smirk in his well-trimmed beard.

"Well, I wouldn't know. I just started wandering, I didn't really know my way around."

"Well then please, I urge you to let me know beforehand. I hate the idea of you out and about unescorted. A lovely young girl of noble birth has no place 'wandering' about on her own. The capital can be a very dangerous place." No place, no rights.

"I was unharmed, the people were very kind if not overly welcoming."

"It is not only bodily harm I'm referring to My Lady. You might be exposed to the wrong sort. There are some things not meant for eyes such as yours, lovely though they may be." He goes to brush a strand of hair away from her face, and she tilts her head back out of reach, camouflaging the movement to seem natural.

"I thank you very much for your concern, Lord Baelish. I will most definitely let you know should I require an escort in the future. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find my father." She makes to continue walking, but he stops her.

"I'm afraid your father isn't here right now. But I believe I saw him earlier, in an establishment of some ill repute I believe it was. But perhaps I am mistaken." He knows.

"Oh Lord Baelish, I had no idea you frequented such places. But I suppose that would explain your intimate knowledge of said establishments. Well, if you see him there, please tell him his daughter wishes to speak with him." And with that she scurries off, not giving him a chance to block her again. She passes the pretty red head, dressed not at all conservatively in a silk dress, which accentuates her sinful curves. They lock eyes for a moment, and in that instant Arya recognizes exactly what kind of woman she is, and wonders what kind of man Lord Baelish truly is.

She flees to the garden, looking to escape. Ugh, these people. No one ever says what they mean. She wants to be alone, but she also wants to shut her brain off tired of her own company as well. But her mind won't stop spinning. She takes some comfort in the setting of the sun, the sky beginning to change colors.

There are no footsteps, but the swish of cloth of robes alerts her to another's presence. She doesn't turn around, but it doesn't matter, the figure comes to stand beside her.

"Good afternoon My Lady, or is it evening?"

"Lord Varys." She says simply. What is it about today? She'd gone weeks without being noticed, and now everyone in the castle was seeking her out. The one person she wanted to talk to was clearly avoiding her, and she felt more alone and frustrated than ever.

"Am I intruding My Lady? I do apologize. I just thought we could chat openly." She snorts at the word openly, but still doesn't turn to look at him.

"The day has been long so far Lord Varys, whatever you wish to 'openly' discuss, can it possibly wait?" Her arms are crossed, a classic signal to ward people off.

"Yes, I heard." At this she does look at him, his bald pudgy head completely earnest. "I have ears everywhere."

"You and Lord Baelish both."

"Yes, Littlefinger has his methods as well. But I can assure you, our sources are quite disparate."

"As long as we're being 'open' I must be honest, I don't feel much like discussing this with you just now. I apologize for my abruptness, but…"

"Please do be honest. And I perfectly understand. So for the sake of 'openness' I will say that I have heard of your work in the dungeons, and the sewers. Dirty work that. I greatly admire your efforts."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Not at all. I'm completely serious. Too many in power have forgotten how to get their hands dirty."

"More than my hands I'm afraid, and not a thing to show for it."

"Oh? I heard the cells are practically picked clean, the highest number of volunteers for The Wall we've had in more than a year. That is not nothing." If he's trying to flatter her for ulterior purposes, he's doing an excellent job. He hasn't mentioned how pretty she is once. She stupidly wants to unburden herself.

"The sewers are still clogged." She admits.

"Quite an undertaking for only one person." He didn't mention her being a woman. "I hear quite a lot has fallen to you given your father's extra curricular activities."

"Whatever you're about to say, don't. I already know. So if you mean to slander my father's good name, you can go whisper it in someone else's ears." She means to leave, even though the sun is only partially set.

"No, no please. Don't misunderstand me. I never meant to offend you. I know your father well enough to know that he is completely incapable of anything untoward."

"He didn't. I mean. I know he didn't. He's an honorable man."

"I do not doubt it, My Lady." He clasps his own hands within his long gaping sleeves. "In fact, I know for a fact that he did not dishonor the pristine Stark name."

"What do you know?"

"I know Jon Arryn before him visited that very same brothel, that very same 'business woman,' that very same child. Lord Arryn was no less honorable than he. Maybe more so, as far as I know he had no bastards running about." She visibly flinches at the word bastard, and thinks of Jon. The sky is bleeding red and orange now, golden where it meets Blackwater Bay.

"Can you get to the point, Lord Varys? I'm extremely tired of riddles. I'm afraid I've reached my limit today." He sighs, but smiles kindly.

"Of course, My Lady." He speaks no further, but does not leave, staying to watch the sunset change again to purples and blues. She has almost completely relaxed, when he speaks again.

"Lord Tyrion. He once held the position of Master of Sewers at Casterly Rock. They say the toilets have never flushed better before or since. Perhaps he can shed some light on your little problem."

"Thank you." She says, surprised.

"You are most welcome, My Lady. Perhaps I will see you at dinner."

"I look forward to it." She says, and means it. She also hopes to see her father as well. The sky turns black before she heads in, rubbing her arms for warmth.

A/N: Okay, so for all of you fabulous forgiving people still here, she is slowly discovering the mystery and her place in court. She wants to trust her father, but he keeps pushing her away, which plants seeds of doubt. Varys is trying to give her some clues, but he is worried for her should she learn too much.

Up next- Tyrion, Joffrey, The King, more Ned, more Jaquen, a glimpse of the Smith's apprentice, and maybe a redheaded prostitute. Then, we'll probably return to book territory, though it will definitely have a different spin.


	7. A Hard Won Truth Continued

A Hard Won Truth Continued

Arya

She sat down to dinner, wearing a lilac dress that reminded her quite a bit of one of Queen Cersei's gowns. She even did her hair the way she had seen the servant do it once before. She purposely chose a seat next to Lord Tyrion, hoping to discuss important matters. Unfortunately, on her other side was The Prince, so she could not broach such matters in public. Her father was seated across the table from her, but was so occupied with The King that she hadn't been able to catch his eye, let alone speak with him. Arya was stuck listening to The Prince describe a particularly brutal sounding hunt he had gone on, though not actively participated in. His favorite part seemed to be the animal's fear; it's sense of hopelessness.

Oddly enough, it was The King who brought the two conversations together.

"Lady Arya, that truly is a lovely color on you."

"Thank you, Your Grace." She replied politely. The Queen glared daggers at her and Arya played around with her creamy risotto baked in a tiny squash, spiced with peppered salt. She refused to drop her gaze, however.

"Uh, yes. Quite beautiful, in fact." The Prince remarked, and she could feel his breath against her ear, that's how closely he was seated.

"How old are you now, dear? Fifteen?"

"Fourteen, Your Grace. And a few months." She clarifies.

"And you're betrothed, is that right?" The King asks, taking a healthy gulp of his wine, a few drops sticking in his beard. He signals a skinny, feminine looking cup bearer to refill his goblet. The blonde boy/man runs quickly to comply. The King holds out the cup, but never once takes his eyes off her.

"She is Your Grace, to Jon Arryn's boy, Robyn in The Vale." Wonderful, a reminder she didn't need.

"A shame that is. The Vale? She belongs at court. Look how she's blossoming here. This is where she belongs." The King says graciously, but the looks he gives her are not at all welcome.

"Ah, well. We gave our word; we can hardly insult The Vale. I made the deal with Jon myself."

"And Jon is dead." The King insists, which causes her father to flinch. "Besides, I heard the boy was a weak little thing. It's possible he won't even live that long, am I right?"

"Yes, perhaps he will die after all." The Prince says hopefully.

"Not at all. They say he is in a very stable condition." Her father explains, barely restraining his anger.

"Still, the will of The King is law. I can order her to remain here." While she might want to be rid of the engagement, she knows enough to worry about The King's will, especially where she is concerned.

"But why would you, Your Grace? Her presence here is only temporary, I will not break a contract written in honor." Her father insists.

"You will not?" Joffrey asks snottily.

"And if I do order it? No one could truly complain should she be betrothed to my son instead." The King suggests. Her eyes and her father's jump and fix on The King.

"Your Grace, I…" Her father begins but is interrupted by Cersei.

"What do you think, My Sweet? Would you like the pretty Stark girl as your queen?" She asks Joffrey as though she is offering him a new puppy to play with.

"Yes, I think the Lady Arya will be more than adequate." He answers simply, digging into his saffron chicken pastry.

"But you can't just…" Her father tries again.

"Of course I can. I can do whatever the bloody hells I want." He laughs at his own joke, the table shaking from where his big belly keeps slapping the underside of it. "Our houses can finally be joined, as they were always meant to be. Besides, your daughter would be queen. There is no downside to this, old friend." Arya suddenly feels as though she can't breathe, and she wonders idly if she is allergic to anything in the food.

"Perhaps the lady does not want to be queen." Tyrion suggests helpfully.

"Nonsense, all women want to be Queen. What else could they hope for, Uncle?" Joffrey asks smugly, pretty pink lips quirked up in a condescending smile.

"Not all. Just as not all men desire to be King." Her father continues.

"I know I would not." Tyrion agrees.

"No one would want you as King anyway, little brother. The whole of The Seven Kingdoms would rebel." The Queen responds unkindly.

"True enough. And I myself would lead the rebellion." Tyrion responds, clever as always. Arya wants to laugh, truly she does, but can't force in the necessary breath to do so.

"What say you girl. Want to be Queen?" And The King is staring right at her, the others as well.

"Speak up, girl. This isn't the time for being timid." The Queen prompts. Joffrey smirks at her, sure she must be flattered to be chosen by him. And in that instant air rushes back into her lungs and she knows that she would choose anyone, a complete stranger, over this blonde boy who makes her skin crawl.

"I would not break an engagement. After all, without honor, we are nothing more than beasts." She repeats a saying her father has retold many times before.

"You bloody Starks and your bloody honor. We shall see, won't we? I quite like the idea of enjoying First Rights." Her father nearly chokes on his water at this, and Arya quite loses her appetite.

"We will take our leave for the night, Your Grace." Her father says, not asks.

"I haven't dismissed you yet." But her father only pulls out her own seat and escorts her out. They leave right before the frozen pomegranate topped with cinnamon cream is served. Once they reach The Tower of The Hand, they sit opposite each other.

"Arya…" He starts.

"It is us against them, Father. Surely you see that now. No more secrets from me if we're to keep our 'bloody honor'. Together we're strong, Starks, of the North; apart we're vulnerable." She says, more than a little shaken.

"You're right. Very right. Things are spiraling out of control. I'm drowning here. I'm sorry I came, and even more sorry I brought you here, Love."

"I'm not." He looks at her surprised. "You need me. Now tell me what's going on."

He sighs, resigned.

"I will." He says. "I promise. But, first I have to be sure. Now don't look at me like that, I will tell you. Just let me gather more proof and put some insurance into place. I have one more thing to do and then it will be finished. I will tell you everything, and we'll find some sort of way out."

"For both of us. Right Daddy?"

"If I can." And he kisses her on the forehead and leaves her to herself; presumably back to his office to continue working. After everything, he still hadn't told her anything. On top of all that, she never got the chance to question Tyrion. She feared for her sanity, her safety, and her father's very soul. What was this place? Who were these people? She had thought it was a game here, playing pretend, but it was much more sinister than that.

She needed to move, to do something, to not feel so helpless. She tried to go out for a walk, but the guards told her she was restricted from exiting the palace at night, for her own safety. Fine. Instead, she went to the dungeons. Seeing the squalid conditions, the hopeless nature of the prisoners, she started to wonder which side of the bars she was actually on. She wasn't fooled; they had not settled the argument. And if The King wanted her to marry his son, or wanted her for himself, it would be so. There was every chance she could be locked away in The Red Keep, forced to pop out blonde little babies with that annoying little shit.

And her father, he'd never been so secretive before. She still believed him when he said he was not frequenting the brothel for his own pleasure, but now she really began to worry that he was into something dangerous. She heard the guard on duty finally come down to complete his rounds and panicked, knowing being found down there would result in even less freedoms.

"Psst. Lovely girl." She looked over. It was the most mysterious guard, the one with the red and white hair. The one who'd been polite. Jaquen was his name. "This way." She did not trust him, and was not about to enter his cell, despite his companions sleeping fitfully within. But he wasn't suggesting any such thing, he was pointing to the opposite wall. She looked and found a sliver of a stairway, mouthed 'thank you' and slipped out. It led of course, deep into the sewers. Irony.

Once down there it was very dark, save for torches upon the walls. She kept to the shadows however, and felt herself going round in circles, like a maze. She was hopelessly lost, until she heard voices. She snuck into a dark alcove and waited for them to pass. She heard only a snippet of their conversation, and could barely make sense of it.

"Yes, he's found the book, and the bastards."

"Which ones?"

"The one in the brothel, the one in the tavern, and the smith."

"And what does he plan to do about it?"

"I don't know. But I doubt he will be successful. It's his honor which will get him killed." And they walked on, their whispered conversation cancelled out by the heavy beating of her heart.

When she eventually found her way back she had discovered two things.

One, she had figured out how to solve the sewer problems. A more complicated, maze-like drainage system would more efficiently remove the human waste, and clean up the streets, provided there was fresh water to flush it out. It could even be used to more efficiently disperse drinking and bathing water.

She also realized that, yes, her father was in danger. He had discovered a secret. For who else could they be referring to with regards to the honorable man, she knew no other within the castle walls. He'd found the book and the bastards. The brothel, The Tavern, and The Smith. She would look into it on her own tomorrow. And she would make sure her father didn't get himself killed as she suspected was the fate of poor Jon Arryn before him. While she did doubt herself, she knew failure wasn't an option. Viper's Nest indeed.

A/N- So yes, she figured it out, mostly. Next she will go see Gendry, learn more than she ever wanted to about Joffrey, and make hard sacrifices to try to save her father. Please review so the story can continue on course. I really want to get to her travels with The Night's Watch.

Also, shameless self-advertising. If you're enjoying this, please take a look at my other story called On the Way There which is also an Arya story, though quite different.


	8. Discoveries

A/N: Okay, recap, the story you missed so far is still pretty close to the original, but Arya-centric, an Arya who can play the game of being a lady although she does hate it. She's also been acting a bit like a mini detective, and here she's figured it out, or almost all of it. Warning, there will be some disturbing stuff this chapter; cause shit is about to hit the fan. Also, a glimpse of Gendry.

Discoveries

Arya

It was quite late when she reentered her room. But when she did she got a fright, there was someone already there. She heard sniffling and found a pretty young woman huddled in the corner, red eyed, face puffy from tears. Her face was very different due to the tears, but after a few moments, she recognized her. It was the redhead from earlier, the one with Littlefinger. As Arya approached, the girl flinched and visibly rolled herself tighter.

"It's alright. I won't hurt you." She tried to console her.

"I know. I'm sorry, I just…" Her voice sounded strange, her nostrils were obviously clogged affecting her cadence. Arya grabbed the top sheet from her bed and wrapped it around the girl, who tensed upon feeling the material on her skin. Arya backed away a bit, and the girl clasped the blanket tighter.

"It's alright. I'm Arya."

"I know. The Stark girl." Her voice was becoming stronger.

"And you are?"

"Ros. I'm one of Littlefinger's girls." One of his girls. She actually worked for him, not just…

"Oh. Are you okay? Do you need anything?" She laughs, but there is no humor in it.

"I just. I just needed to hide for a little while. I'll leave, just…" She looks as if she's about to stand.

"No, it's fine. Don't worry." And she relaxes a bit at that.

"Thank you, My Lady."

"It's Arya." She gets up to pour a glass of water from a pitcher on the nightstand and hands it to the woman.

"Thank you, Arya." She says as she shakily drinks.

"What happened?" The woman doesn't answer, just continues to drink.

"Whom are you hiding from?" She tries instead. "Littlefinger?" The woman shakes her head, no.

"I saw you, ya know?" The woman says suddenly.

"Yes. I saw you too. Yesterday." She says calmly, as if speaking to a frightened child.

"No. I saw you outside the brothel, walking past covered in shit."

"Oh, yes, well."

"I didn't tell Littlefinger. I didn't tell anyone you had been there."

"Oh. Thank you." The woman only nods.

"Are you hurt?" Arya asks. "Because I can…"

"I just, I just need a moment."

"What happened? Tell me. Littlefinger may be the Master of Coin, but my father is The Hand. I'll protect you." She violently shakes her red curls.

"It's silly. I'm a whore, I've been hurt much worse, but…" She bites her lip and swallows. "The things he made me do. What he wanted. I feel sick." She finishes off the water. Arya is becoming increasingly alarmed.

"Who?" She asks again more sternly. She had no idea Littlefinger was capable of something like this.

She only shakes her head. And just like that, Arya feels sick herself. How many times had she passed by him? How many times had he smiled at her or kissed her hand?

"Let me see." Arya requests. Ros refuses. "I spent some time in The Sept of the Seven, I'm not squeamish around blood or women's issues. Let me see." And the woman nods. All along her body are bruises; fingerprint shaped, some still red, others already turning blue. There was a tiny sliver of blood on her throat, obviously from the edge of a blade pressed against the delicate flesh. And on her wrists were harsh rope burns. Arya did have to concentrate very hard on not vomiting, though more from intense anger, and perhaps some fear.

"It's okay." Arya soothes. "We'll just get you cleaned up, okay? Wait here."

Arya pads to the door to find a servant, she'll need something to clean the wounds besides water, the rope burns looked particularly painful. By the time she recovered all the necessary supplies, the woman, Ros, was gone. The only evidence of her presence the blanket lying in a heap on the floor. Arya says a silent prayer to The Old Gods and The New to keep the woman from further harm.

After, she collapsed on the bed and instantly fell asleep. She forgot to close the curtains, and so the rising sun woke her up only a matter of hours later. She couldn't actually remember her dreams, but she awoke feeling unsettled and trapped.

She dressed quickly, but chose her simplest dress; it started out light grey and got darker toward the bottom. Without a painful corset, it didn't accentuate her curves, but nor did it hide them. The cloak she placed on top hid that. Her hair was put simply in a bun, and she had her most comfortable boots on her feet.

She'd been to the brothel already and didn't fancy running into Littlefinger, and hoped sincerely that Ros had not gone back there. And she had no idea which tavern it could be; there were hundreds in King's Landing alone, not to mention the outlying provinces. But the smith, she had passed the Street of Steel the other day, and meant to start there.

It was early enough that she was almost able to sneak out without incident. The King was on a wild boar hunt, and so most of the palace was out with him. She almost made it without incident, almost.

The Hound blocked her path, an imposing figure, burned face set in seriousness.

"Where are you going, girl?" He asks, gruff voice startling her. As with most people, Arya was more than a little frightened of the man.

"Good day, Ser Clegane. I'm just running an errand for my father. I'll be back before midday."

"I'm not a knight." He insists with a slight growl.

"Oh, uh, sorry Lord Hound…" He almost cracks a smile at that.

"Have a care, girl. Look after yourself." He says and lets her pass. She is surprised, but nods respectfully, and hurries on.

She weaves through the streets and various shops. The smell of heated steel alerts her to the desired street before she actually sees anything. There are almost a dozen shops, and she feels a bit overwhelmed in her search.

The first few she walks into are what one would expect from a smithy. The forge is alight, swords and blades line the walls. When they see she is a woman, they ignore her, thinking her not a real customer. It's at the fifth shop that the man, tall and thin with kind brown eyes, actually pays attention to her, showing her his wares, telling her the prices. She's not sure what she's even looking for. This Smith her father had found, the one the voice in the sewers had spoken of. She had no way to find him, and couldn't ask.

"Do you have any sheaths? Something small, for a little blade?" She asks instead.

He leads her over to a display case. "How big is it?" He asks.

She shows him the size with her hand and he picks something simple for her. It's very plain, but looks functional enough.

"It's high quality leather, that. You put it on your belt, like this." He shows her.

"How much?" Though she will most likely pay it anyway; she doesn't really know how to haggle, nor does she have the patience for it. This will be her last stop if she's to make it back for lunch.

"Not much at all. It's a good deal. That thief Tobho Mott'll charge you two, three times as much."

"Really?"

"Yes, robbery that is. Will you take it?" She agrees and has a little leather sheath, feeling quite glad with her purchase. On impulse she asked about this Tobho Mott's shop. He pointed her to one of the last shops on the street, and warned her again about the prices, promising discounts. The Smith, the voice had said, maybe that meant the most expensive shop.

She didn't enter, merely looked from across the street. She saw an older man, medium height, with longish salt and pepper hair. There was nothing much special about him, and she was resigned to leave disappointed once again. The sizzle sound of a sword being touched into cool water made her stay put. In the back she could make out a tall outline, large arms and shoulders working steel. It was dark, and she couldn't see well, but the figure went to stoke the fire higher, and it was then she got a look at him. He was handsome. Only a few years older than herself. He had thick black hair, high cheekbones, and the way he hit the steel spoke of immense strength. He looked up, as though sensing he was being watched, and she ducked behind an alley. But before she had turned completely away, she'd caught a glimpse of his eyes. Bright blue. And she knew. She knew who his father was, whose bastard he was. Is this what her father had been doing? Did the boy know? Most likely not. He was an impressive figure, and as she did the math, she realized he was older than Joffrey. Dangerous indeed.

In the alley, she stepped backwards and heard a crunch.

"Oye! Watchit, Lady." There a young redheaded boy with matching freckles was sitting beside a blanket laid out with junk for sale. She'd stepped on a small toy, but not broken it. She gave him a coin for his trouble and made her way back, not wanting to cause any trouble at the palace, already late.

Back at the gates to The Red Keep, there was a commotion. The few guards standing watch took a bit to convince of her identity, but eventually let her pass, they looked quite flustered.

Once safely inside, she learned the reason why. The King had been gravely injured by the boar he was hunting. It was thought he would not survive. The palace was chaos, servants running around like chickens with their heads cut off, barking orders, physicians discussing treatments. On her way past The King's quarters she saw a serving girl leaving, blood soaked rags in a basket, a slightly green tinge to the girl's face.

"Arya." She heard from behind her; her father hugged her tightly to his breast and kissed her forehead as he always did, before rushing forward to enter the room. No sooner had the door closed than she heard a bellowing "Out!" and another servant exited, leaving the door ajar, and she snuck in. Why, she could not say. The room smelled of herbs and decoctions, and the underlying aroma of death. She knew that smell, metallic and rotten- death.

"Ah, Ned. I am glad you're here. I couldn't die without a proper goodbye, now could I?"

"You won't die, Your Grace. You're far too stubborn." Her father tried to joke but was visibly upset.

"Not as stubborn as the boar, it would seem." And he gave a deep laugh, which ended in a painful cough, the wound in his gut raw and open. "I got the bugger though. I told the kitchen girl to make it into a pie or some such for tonight's feast. I want everyone eating the fucker that killed their king." His gaze flew over to Arya herself, and she was startled.

"Arya, Love, leave us." Her father instructed, though not angrily. She made to do just that.

"No, girl, stay." The King ordered. And she did, for even despite the wound and his immobility, he was still quite intimidating.

Her father looked like he wanted to protest, but held his tongue.

"Come closer girl, unless you're too afraid."

She did.

"Brave girl, that one. Not afraid of death."

"You are not going to die, Robert."

"Yes, you are." She said. And The King laughed again.

"See. Honest to a fault, just like Her. Bloody annoying, that." He makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a moan. "It's time to settle things isn't it? You're The Hand, use one to write this down." Her father reaches for a quill and parchment, intent but troubled.

"At your command, Your Grace."

"No no, none of that. Robert, remember. First, I was wrong about the Targaryan girl. Rescind the order, make it so."

"I will, Robert. You do yourself honor."

"Yeah yeah." He waves the comment away. "And I don't want the Lannister bitch to have too much power. She's too glad to see me dead, that look on her face was one of utter relief. Can't say as I blame her, I was a shit husband. And not much of a king. But she'd be even worse. You'll need to rule until Joffrey's old enough. Whenever that is. Maybe never." Her father looked up for an instant at the name Joffrey but dutifully wrote something down, and Arya realized this meant her father would be as king. He quickly scribes a second copy and has The King sign both documents; he does so without reading them.

Her father then reaches for a stick of golden wax, lighting one end, and letting it drip on the parchments. He places it before The King and helps his old friend to press his signet ring into the waxy puddles. A moment later the seals are dry, the documents official, and The King visibly relaxes.

"I'm counting on you Ned. You have to fix this bloody kingdom. I've made a mess of it. I'm paying for it now though, aren't I?" Her father reaches for The King's hand, offering him comfort. The King places his ring, the one with the stag of House Baratheon on its face, into his best friend's palm.

"I'll do what I can, I swear it." Her father had just sworn an oath; it could not be taken back. A Stark's vow could never be broken. The King coughed again, clearly in immense pain.

"Well, you can start right now. End it, Ned. I don't want to linger, I'm a warrior, and I want a clean death." Her father takes his sword in his palm, but hesitates.

"I can't, Robert. I'm sorry."

"Damnit you sentimental fool, don't leave me like this." The King demands.

Arya comes closer and removes the bandages holding his intestines in their places, releasing a new wave of stench, and letting the blood drip down onto the mattress. As she does, The King sighs in relief, he grabs her hand tight, tighter than she would have thought he was still capable of. He is looking at her, but his eyes have gone glassy, she can't be sure he is seeing her at all.

"Lyanna. Oh my Lyanna. You've come to take me, finally. I'm ready, I've missed you." Her father motions her to play along, pleads with her more like.

"Robert. Rest now." She said, as she might have to one of the women at the Sept bleeding out before her. Her father looked shocked, maybe even a little frightened.

"Please Lyanna. Say you forgive me for what I've become. Say you understand. In my own way, it was for you, all for you." And just like that, her disgust towards the fat, whoring, drunkard disappeared into pity. What a miserable way to live; holding onto ghosts and poisoning himself with wine and women to meet the dead faster. She hoped she never ended up like that. And just like that, she was sorry for him again.

"I… Yes, Robert." His skin is even paler, and she knows it won't be long.

"Sing to me Lyanna, please." The request seems strange, even to her, even in this moment. But she does it. She sings "The Night that Ended" a Northern song she knew well about The Battle for The Dawn. She thinks he will like a song about battle, any self-proclaimed warrior would. She sings until his grip goes slack and her father has to keep back tears. She finishes regardless and slips her hand free, moving to the wall to give her father his privacy. Not twenty minutes later, the door slams open and The Queen enters, followed by ten guards.

"He's dead then." And the guards fan out, surround Lord Stark.

"Yes. And he named me Protector of the Realm until his _**Heir**_ comes of age. He signed this." Her father says with conviction, holding up one of the documents; the other sitting unmolested and unseen on the table.

The Queen looks amused at that.

"You think a piece of paper means anything?" She plucks the parchment out of his hand and rips it in two, then four pieces. And for the first time, Lord Stark looks completely lost. It pains her to see her own father look helpless.

"What you've just done is treason. And worse." He asserts.

Arya casually grabs the other parchment and stuffs it down her bodice, hoping no one will notice the outline of the paper through the fabric.

"Now who's to vouch for you? Your own daughter? Guards, this man is guilty of treason against King Joffrey Baratheon and is to be taken to the dungeons." She instructs.

They grab a hold of him and force him forward. Lord Stark secretly drops the ring onto the ground without looking, careful not to make a sound; the boots of the guards kick it unknowingly off to the corner and out of sight.

"No!" Arya yells and a single guard steps between her and The Queen. It is at this that The Queen turns her attention to Arya, signaling the guard to step back. Bright green eyes pierce into her, pin her in place, and steal her breath.

"What are you doing here exactly?" The Queen asks.

"The King requested her, he said she comforted him, reminded him of Lyanna." The Queen visibly flinches at that.

"Of course, I should have known. Take her back to her room, she will be dealt with later." Ned Stark locks eyes with his daughter, trying to convey love, hope, and caution with a single glance. They roughly drag him from the room, and two more gently escort her back to her chambers, where she finally lets herself breathe, though each intake of breath is erratic and painful.

Arya concentrates on getting her breathing under control first, the shallow breaths pushing the sharp edges of the paper into her ribs with each inhale. Oh Father, what do I do? But there is no answer.

A/N: Yeah, it went in a totally different direction than I thought. But I like it. Next chapter- Arya will do whatever it takes to save her father, but will her sacrifice prove worth it? Review please.


	9. A True Sacrifice

A/N: Warning, this is where the story takes a much darker turn. Also, this should really be a very long fic, so get settled for some long chapters, new characters, extreme plot liberties, and hopefully a surprise ending. If people guess or have requests, that's one thing, but it's all about to go askew. Enjoy!

A True Sacrifice

Arya

She stayed in her room like a good girl. Well, actually, The Queen kept her locked away until she had need of the young she-wolf. The servant who brought in her meals, freshened her bath water, and emptied her chamber pot would tell her nothing of her father, or when she could leave her incredibly gilded cell. The first meal was a savory puff pastry of rich herb-encrusted goat cheese and the boar in-question, a Dornish style delicacy. Well, The King had one of his last decrees followed; the very same boar that killed him was not baked into a savory pie. While the intricate combination of spices smelled delicious, it only reminded her of a fetid open wound, guts and viscera exposed to the air.

She was actually hungry enough at the next meal, a spinach and cured boar quiche, to eat, but stopped herself. She was determined not to be a model prisoner, to be as difficult as possible. By the creamed artichoke soup with breaded salmon crust came that afternoon, she had already counted how many steps around the perimeter of the room, how many across and diagonal. She even eyeballed the drop to the ground, and deduced that it was far too far; the fall would definitely kill her, or at least break bones. Next she searched the room for possible weapons before remembering the blade Jon had gifted her sitting in the bottom of her bag. What took her the longest was figuring out where to hide the parchment. She would hide it in one place, then think twice, and put it somewhere else. After a bath, she was a hostage not an animal, she realized there was only one safe place, on her person. She ripped out a bone from one of her corsets and hid the paper inside, rolled around a bone, then messily restitching it. She shoved that down by her blade. The one and only time she regretted her lack of feminine skills.

By that evening, when a lamb stew was brought, she had to entertain herself by picking out the different herbs used, and their medicinal purposes. She picked out cayenne for reducing inflammation, coriander for intestinal issues, ginger to reduce nausea, mustard to increase circulation, and salt of course. She was glad to know she still remembered something from her time in The Sept. It was delicious, she thought, crying with each spoonful. Her attempts to ignore the fear for her father and her own fate had completely stopped working.

The next morning she woke up puffy, sore throated, and looking horrid. She vaguely remembered crying herself to sleep. When she heard her door opening, she assumed it was the servant girl who wouldn't answer questions or even tell her her name; but instead it was The Queen.

Arya scrambled up and tried ineffectually to fix her hair. The Queen enters looking flawless, golden dress, golden jewelry seemingly choking its way up her throat. Her eyes immediately take on that look she only gets when looking at Arya, that of disappointment.

"I want to see my father." Arya says, not bothering with pleasantries any longer.

"Your father is well, for now." Like a fish on a hook.

"I want to see him." She demands.

The Queen actually rolls her eyes at her. Rolls her eyes.

"We need to have a talk."

"Of course, Your Majesty." And she sits slowly down on the bed. Let The Queen feel taller, the one in power. The Queen does seem pleased by this and smiles warmly, though Arya feels her blood run cold.

"Tell me. Do you know what your father has done?" Arya only shakes her head.

"He has betrayed the crown. He went behind The King's back to undermine our legacy."

"No. Of course not. He loved The King. He would never…"

"Shh." She holds up a hand to silence her. "There is no arguing with facts. His guilt and fate are sealed. The question is, will you join him?" The uncomfortable smile is gone, replaced with a cold stare.

"I would never betray my king." Arya says, carefully.

"Were you aware of your father's scheming? And I will know if you're lying." Her jewel eyes piercing.

"My father didn't tell me any specifics of his dealings." This was true. Her father hadn't told her anything, what she did know she'd figured out on her own.

"I believe you. But it doesn't really matter either way. What I need to know, is where your loyalties lye in this moment. Your answer is very important, so think carefully."

"I will do whatever you want, say whatever you want me to say… I…"

"Enough, calm down, child. That is exactly the right answer. Okay, listen to me, and we can come to a mutually beneficial solution."

"Just, tell me what you want to let my father go free." She clasps her fingers nervously.

"If only it were that simple. But it's not up to me. Joffrey is King, and he is not pleased with your father's actions. It's him you'll need to convince. Not me."

"As you say." Though it physically pains her to say it.

"You'll wear this." And she chooses a green dress from the closet. "He likes this color." Arya thinks the dress looks like something The Queen would wear, the color reminds her of Lannister eyes, the neckline is low, and it's tapered at the waist. "You must do your best." The Queen instructs, fingering Arya's unkempt hair. "I know you think you're clever. And you are. But being overly clever isn't always a good thing. In this instance, I think your other attributes will be better suited, don't you?"

"I… As you say, Your Grace."

And she rolls her eyes at Arya's simple repeated answer. "Yes yes. I do believe you'll make a good match for Joff, and a good queen when the time comes." She is confused at this.

"But, Your Grace. I am already betrothed."

"Yes, to your cousin, that sickly thing in The Vale, correct? But this is much more important than some silly promise. You did agree to do 'as I say,' correct?" And she raises one perfect brown brow in question.

Arya only nods, feeling her life spinning out of control.

"I thought you'd see it my way. Now, my serving girl will get you prepared, you do need quite a lot of work." And she tsks. "Do something about those bags under her eyes, will you?" She asks the serving girl. "And the redness around her nose."

Cersei leaves looking quite pleased with herself, and the servant girl gets to work. Arya hears The Queen giving orders to the guard outside, "She has free run of the castle, but she may not leave under any circumstances, and the dungeons are restricted." And Arya feels her heart sink further as the girl rubs lotion into her skin.

When the girl finishes her work, panting from her efforts, she proclaims Arya perfect, beautiful. Arya herself can't bear to look in the mirror.

No matter how much she begs, the guard will not allow her to visit her father, too afraid of The Queen to dare disobey.

So she heads to the gardens first, the fresh air helps her clear her head, and put off the inevitable. She'd meant what she said; she would do whatever was asked of her to keep her father alive; freedom for either father or daughter seemed quite far-fetched at this point. According to The Queen, being too clever would not serve her well in this endeavor, she was inclined to agree. Or at least, the situation required more of it than she currently possessed.

The serving girl said she looked perfect, she saw the guard eye her interestedly, and others stare after her as she passed, circling round the gardens. However, that might have to do with all the gossip surrounding her family at the moment. But she could definitely agree on one thing, she would need to use every weapon in her arsenal. The Queen seemed to think her looks could be used in such a way. Her face and figure had seemed more a curse than anything to Arya, but now she would have to rely on them to get what she wanted. She could do this, she had to.

Joffrey had quickly moved into The King's old quarters. She hoped they'd given the place a thorough cleansing first. At the door, waiting outside obediently was The Hound.

"Good afternoon, Lord Hound." He is startled at her greeting, but not at her presence. She thinks she detects the unburned side of his face turn down in a frown.

"I'm no lord either." He says gruffly, but she detects no real malice behind the words.

"Well, I don't know what else to call you." She explains.

He's silent for an overly long while. "Sandor."

"Very well, Sandor. Would you please let His Majesty know I'm here to see him?" She waits patiently for him to do so, playing absently with the emeralds The Queen had gifted her, smoothing down her dress, but he is frozen.

"You don't want to do this, Milady."

"I don't believe this is any of your business, just do as I ask."

"This won't turn out the way you want. I can promise you that."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Sandor."

"Milady…" He tries again but she cuts him off by knocking loudly on the door, too afraid she'll lose her nerve.

"What is it?" She hears a whiny voice ask from the other side of the door. Sandor sighs, but opens the door wide.

"It's Arya Stark, Your Grace." He doesn't bother to look up from where he's fiddling in the corner.

"Come in." She does. "And shut the door." Sandor does with a look of disapproval. Joffrey finally looks up at the sound of the door shutting. He's dressed to perfection in a crisp black tunic, Baratheon colors, he has on his father's crown, and his light blonde hair is combed neatly. He is the picture of a handsome prince, if not a king.

"My Lady, Arya. What a pleasant surprise." He looks her over and seems interested in her appearance, letting his gaze linger on her hips and cleavage for quite some time. Arya wastes no time and falls to her knees.

"Your Grace, I humbly beg for the life of my father. Whatever his crimes, I'm sure he meant no harm. I only wish him to live, nothing more." She risks a glance up from her place on the floor to see him smiling widely.

"I do appreciate your contrition. However, your father's crimes are most grievous. Treason is punishable by death."

"No, Your Grace. You're mistaken. I…" He stands taller at that, an angry furrow to his light brows.

"I am not mistaken, and you will not question me!" She looks back at the floor once more.

"Of course, Your Grace. I apologize Your Grace." She feels nauseous, but has nothing in her stomach.

"You're forgiven, I know you've been out of the loop recently." He laughs at his own wit. "So you must not be aware that he has made moves against me, spread vicious lies and sought to overthrow me."

"Of course not, Your Grace."

"Do you think, as King, I can afford to let such heinous slights against my person go unpunished?" It's then she must make her suggestion.

"No, and that's why I beg of you to punish him accordingly. He should be sent to The Wall in disgrace, with the other criminals."

"The Wall." He curls his lip in disgust. "I want his head."

"But that would be so obvious, and short-term. A lifetime on The Wall would mean eternal punishment. And it would mean a lot to me, as your future Queen." As she awaits his answer, she worries she won't be able to hear is response over the sound of her blood pumping in her ears.

"Queen? That sounds like my mother's meddling."

"It was her idea. However, at dinner the other evening, you expressed interest in such a match." She reasons.

"True, but that was more to make my father happy more than anything. But he's dead now. What he thinks no longer matters. Marrying The Traitor's daughter seems a mistake." For an instant, she can see The King's rotting corpse lying on the mattress. "And honestly, you're not my type. A bit too plain, no matter how you truss it up." He gestures to her disinterestedly. A part of her is incredibly relieved, but she can't think only of herself.

"Please, Your Majesty. I will do anything, anything to see this set right. Just tell me what you want from me."

"I don't know if you're pretty enough to marry, but you'll do for a quick fuck." She swallows the gasp threatening to escape. In the back of her mind, she thought it might come to this, though she still felt unprepared.

"Your Majesty, I am from a proud house. What you're suggesting…"

"You did say, anything." A sickly grin is plastered on his face. Clearly he enjoys her dilemma, the wait.

She knows she can say no, it's part of his fun, for her to choose her own ruination. What choice did she have? Her father's life was on the line, and it was such a little thing. One piece of her really. And on the bright side, she'd never have to marry her cousin, the invalid. Perhaps she'd be sent home in disgrace, never to marry anyone. But people would know, they'd look at her like she was broken.

She was reasonably sure that her father would not want this, would advise her against it. But she couldn't let him die, she would never be able to live with herself, never be able to look at herself in the mirror. Well, she doubted she would be able to either way.

The last light of day falls below the horizon, one last beam gleaming off something in the corner. The ring. Hmmm. Just because she was giving in in this moment, didn't mean the fight would be over. She would sacrifice now, and fulfill Stark promises later.

"And you'll pardon my father?" She asks.

"I will give him mercy, as you requested. But you must complete your side of the bargain."

"Deal." She says, and swallows. The wicked look he was sporting engulfs his entire face, and Arya knows fear. She regrets the decision as soon as she's made it. But it is far too late now.

A/N: Okay guys, wow that got dark. And I'm afraid the next chapter will be too. Arya truly loves her father, and would do anything for him. Perhaps she will save him this time… nope. Up next- the terrible consequences. Also, more interactions with members of the court, Ros, and Yoren.


	10. A Useless Sacrifice

A/N: Sorry it took me a while, I went on vacation, and honestly I've been working on my other fic more. This chapter was tough to write, but I'm really excited for what it's leading up to. Things are really cooking now. Be warned, super dark. I promise to add some light bits throughout though. Enjoy!

A Useless Sacrifice

Arya

It was done. Throughout, she had tried her hardest to let her mind wander, to be somewhere else. But then he'd do something particularly painful or degrading, and she was brought right back into the moment. Every thrust, every bruising grip, every painful twist and awkward angle; she felt it all. All the while he had such a delighted grin on his face, he enjoyed her pain immensely. At first, she had been determined not to cry out, but she couldn't help it. It only spurred him on. He was careful though; he left no marks, except for the fingerprint shaped bruises he left behind, but nowhere visible. He made sure of that.

She slowly picks up her clothes, Joffrey lying back on the bed contented. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the glint of metal in the corner; the signet ring. She quickly stuffs it down by her breasts without his noticing. He is boneless and relaxed, eyeing her awkward ritual of dressing and creeping towards the door amused. He stays blessedly silent, undoubtedly enjoying her discomfort and shame.

She opens the door to see The Hound waiting for her. Joffrey calls to him, but he shuts the door behind her. She's too numb to look him in the eye, too distant to try to take in the empathy and pity on his badly burned face.

"Come along now, Little Lady. I'll see you back to your room." He reaches for her elbow but she pulls away. He understands and simply walks forward, slowly enough to allow her to follow. She puts one foot in front of the other, but would never have found her way back without guidance.

"There you go now, we're here." He says gently.

"Thank you Sandor." She says emotionlessly. She simply can't bring up any feeling now. One would lead to another, and she'd never be able to process it. He looks as though he wants to say more, but keeps his mouth shut. She enters her room before he can muster the courage to say anything more.

Her room looks different than before, like it belongs to someone else. Or she's someone else. That must be it. Everything has a darker sheen, feels farther away, less real. It all smells less vibrant, feels less solid, and seems out of time, displaced.

In a daze, she strips off her dress, letting it fall to the floor. She washes off her skin with a wet cloth, scrubbing until her skin turns red and she's satisfied that she's as clean as she'll ever be. She puts on another dress, not even bothering to look at which.

A knock on the door startles her, makes her want to run and hide in the corner.

"My Lady. It's me." She recognizes the voice of Ros immediately, but still hesitates in opening the door. She opens it and stands back against the wall, out of sight of the open door.

Taking in her slight shaking and inability to meet her gaze, Ros quickly closes the door behind her.

"Oh, My Lady…" She coos piteously. When Arya doesn't respond, Ros immediately starts tending to her.

"It will be alright, My Lady. I promise, over time, it will seem less real."

Arya looks at her disbelieving, but says nothing. She doesn't want to be talking about this.

"What are you doing here, Ros?" She straightens up at that.

"Varys sent me." She knew it.

"What? Why?" Ros hesitates.

"He knows." She says, not needing to ask.

"He knows everything." Ros agrees.

"Just him, or does everyone know?" Ros doesn't answer.

"He visited your father in the dungeons, he says Lord Stark is well and unharmed." Arya breathes out a sigh of relief, nodding her head in thanks for the information.

"I should have told you about him before. I let you think it was Lord Baelish, but, I never thought…"

"It wouldn't have mattered. I would have done it anyway." Arya answers honestly. "It'll be worth it." But she is telling herself more than Ros.

When Ros gives her tea, she absently smells it out of habit. Moon tea. She gratefully gulps it down, uncaring at the way it burns going down her throat. Ros gives her another full pouch of the preventative herbs with instructions to take some every six hours for the next few days, but not to take too much. She didn't pay much attention though, already knowing about measurements and dosages.

Instead she imagines her father walking chained under Yoren's care, named a traitor, but alive. He would join Jon at The Wall; he would be back in the bosom of The North. And while Arya may never again get to see him, perhaps her mother and brothers could visit him often. She could imagine the look of relief and sadness on his face as he's pardoned, perhaps understanding what she'd done. She would feel shame, but he would be safe, that was all that mattered.

She feels Ros' stare, and realizes she's been silent for a long while.

"Thank you, Ros, for the tea. And thank Lord Varys as well."

"I wanted to come. You were kind to me, I volunteered." She says genuinely, lashes lowered.

"I do appreciate it, I just…" And she can't put it into words. The way nothing matters the way it should, the way she keeps wondering if she will ever feel anything deeply ever again, or if she even wants to.

"I understand, My Lady." She says with a small smile. And of course, she does understand, better than anyone else ever could.

"Call me Arya."

"I don't think I can do that, My Lady." Arya nods in understanding, unsurprised.

"And you, Ros. How have you been?"

"I…" Ros swallows deeply.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing, just… it's nothing to do with you. Never you mind. You've enough to worry over."

"No, please. Tell me. I might prefer a distraction." She tries to make her voice sound appropriately concerned.

"Well. There's a woman at the brothel, she had a baby girl, Barra was her name. Beautiful little thing, a full head of dark hair, pretty blue eyes, hardly ever cried. Some soldiers came in yesterday, they killed her, took her right from her mother's arms. Why would they do such a thing? She was just a baby. And the mother, she can't stop crying." Ros gets choked up at this. Arya sees things more clearly.

"Have there been any other strange murders?" She inquires.

"Yes." She responds surprised. "A tavern as well. How did you know?" Arya gets a churning in her gut, knowing exactly what it means. The bastards are dead. And she does feel; sadness and guilt, especially when she thinks about a boy, strong cheekbones, covered in soot, blue eyes glinting in the light of the forge.

"Just a guess." She says, not wanting to put the caring whore in any more danger. She lets Ros help her finish getting ready, knowing she needs to look perfect for the upcoming trial, Joffrey will want her pretty, and she wants her father and the people to know she's strong and unbroken.

It seems all of King's Landing has come out to watch the spectacle- The Hand of the King, a great lord from a great house, tried for treason, chained, cowed, dirty, but still proud. She feels her heart will burst with how much she loves him, the strength radiating off of him. She takes in every detail- longish hair peppered with gray, the wrinkles around his eyes, the strong set of his jaw; every inch a Stark.

Joffrey is eating up the attention, the power. Some people can only feel strong by making others look weak, she tells herself. Joffrey grins at her with his perfect white teeth, and she can't believe she thought even for a moment that he was handsome. She wants only to punch him in the face, wring his neck. But she must get through today first.

"Lord Eddard Stark, former Hand of the King, is charged with treason against King Joffrey Baratheon and House Lannister. How does he plead?"

Lord Stark swallows before making eye contact with his daughter. She nods in encouragement, a small forced smile to help him along.

"I plead guilty, Your Grace, and deeply regret my hateful actions. I am ashamed and humbly beg your forgiveness. I ask to join The Night's Watch." She can only imagine how much it must pain him to speak those falsehoods; no Stark would ever surrender easily. Empty words would be stuck in the throat, painful to dislodge. But he'd done it, and from the way his gaze locked with hers, she suspected it was for her benefit.

"I promised My Lady I would show mercy. And I shall. A quick death, painless, no need to draw it out. Ser Ilyn Payne, would you do the honors." Joffrey orders.

Lord Stark is led to the block, Ser Ilyn stepping towards him menacingly.

"No." Arya whispers. Then louder. "No!" She jumps forward but is restrained by The Hound. "No!" She screams again.

"Hold still girl. There's nothing you can do." He rasps in her ear. She can smell a few days worth of dirt on his skin.

Her father kneels before the block, steady and sure. He doesn't flinch or shake, doesn't protest or plead. Ser Ilyn brings down the blade, quick and precise.

"No!" She keeps screaming, until her voice runs out and her arms turn numb from where Sandor holds her back.

His head falls to the ground, bounces once, twice, and then rolls a few feet from where she stands. She fights harder to be free, eyes near blinded with salt water, but still Sandor won't let her go. Her father's eyes seem to stare into her, dead eyes looking into hers and not letting go. Finally the world gives out and her vision turns black, she drops down like a puppet with its strings cut into blissful oblivion.

She awakes to a cool cloth being applied to her forehead. Slowly, her surroundings come to her. She's back in her room, thirsty and disoriented. She has no idea how much time has passed, but she knows one thing for sure- her father is dead, she hadn't saved him. She'd sacrificed all she had, and it had all been for nothing. She wished very much that she could go back into that dark abyss from which she'd awoken.

It takes her even longer to recognize who is applying the cold compress, and another few minutes to believe it. Lord Petyr Baelish is near the bottom of the list of people she would expect to see.

Once it settles in, she pulls herself up into a sitting position, stopping him from touching her further. His perfectly trimmed goatee pulling into a frown.

"Woah, woah. Easy, there. Don't push yourself."

"Why are you in my room?"

"I was worried about you. You've been through something quite traumatic. I do care about what happens to you, Arya." He says, stroking the ends of her hair lovingly.

"Please leave. I'd rather be alone just now, Lord Baelish." He sighs, disappointed but not deterred.

"I can't do that. They want you downstairs for dinner." A panicked hand clasps her gut.

"No. I can't."

"You must, My Lady. They expect it of you. You must prove your loyalty." She feels herself sniffling but doesn't cry.

"Why do you care? You said you do care, right?" She looks at him suspiciously.

"I cared for your mother once. Did she tell you that?" He seems very concerned with her answer.

"No." He looks utterly disappointed. "But I've heard. They say you were in love with her." He looks away at that, but not embarrassed.

"That was a long time ago. Did anyone ever tell you, you look like her?" She's startled at that.

"No. People always say I look like my…" She can't say it.

"You do though. Not the eyes, or the shape of your face. But you have a few strands of her lovely hair within the brown. And you're growing into her shape." She ignores his observation.

"I can't go down there." She reiterates.

"But you must. Just get through tonight."

"And how long until I can go home?" She asks.

"Oh Dear, he'll never let you go. Not that he's found a new pretty toy to torture."

"So you know. Does everyone know?"

"Well I know. And I'd imagine Varys does too. Most likely The Queen knows much, but not all."

"I'm stuck here then, in this Hell." She murmurs, though not to him.

"Perhaps not. I could help you, if you but trust me child." His fingers find their way from her hair to her shoulder, the touch all too intimate in a way she could now recognize for what it was.

"Help me how? Why?" She inquires.

"Something could be arranged. And as to why… Some might think you ruined. I would say you are newly ripe." She swallows at this, uncomfortable.

"I must get ready. Please leave me to do so." She's being cold. And she knows it. But while she's apprehensive about what is to come, she cannot bring herself to trust Littlefinger, she recognizes what his gaze means.

"Of course, My Lady. I look forward to our next meeting." He kisses her hand and exits. She cannot bring her blade, so she must use her other weapons. She puts on her black mourning dress, the one she wore upon her arrival. But she dresses it up with jewels, mimics the hairstyle she's seen the handmaidens complete a dozen times, lines her eyes with kohl, and her lips with berry stain. They won't see her weak, she won't cower and hide, she won't weep in their presence. They want a broken toy to further shatter; they'll find a vicious wolf that bites back.

The dinner is a grand affair, in honor of Joffrey's triumph over his betrayers, his swift justice and his deep wisdom, so remarkable for such a young king. She immediately feels ill, but holds it back with a sickening smile, bordering on crazy.

She makes a grand entrance, fearless and cold as winter, dying inside. They all look up at her, shocked at her raised chin and defiantly icy eyes. They expected a mess, which made her even more determined to keep her pain at bay. Joffrey looks pleased at the chance to taunt her; The Queen looks particularly surprised at her proud posture.

It is Tyrion Lannister who bids her sit beside him. She would be grateful for the gesture, if she weren't all too aware of his Lannister heritage. She says nothing as she sits beside him, though he smiles at her kindly, filling her glass with fine Arbor wine. She drinks deeply, wanting bravery and composure. She does so before 'The King' and receives uncomfortable looks in response.

"To the Valiant King, eradicator of injustice and rightful heir to the throne. Long live King Joffrey." Maester Pycelle toasts. There is a chorus of 'here, here' and everyone sips from their goblets. Arya has not stopped her gulping and continues long after the others. She receives more strange looks, and stares each of them down in turn.

The other lords take turns congratulating Joffrey, and out of the corner of her eye she seems him soaking up the praise, pleased with himself, retelling the details of her own father's beheading that very morning. She drinks more.

"I am truly sorry for your loss, My Lady. Lord Stark was an honorable man, Westeros is a poorer land without his presence." Tyrion says in all sincerity, mismatched eyes earnestly burning into her. She takes a moment, and another half goblet of wine, to respond.

"Oh yes? I'm sure you did everything you could to stop it." She says sarcastically. The Imp has the grace to look ashamed.

"I'm afraid my word has little sway around here. As little as my stature." He responds.

"Oh I'm so sorry, Lord Tyrion. Is it my pity you seek? I'm afraid I've none to give just now." She knows somewhere in the back of her mind that her harsh words are misplaced, but he is the safest and closest target at the moment.

"No my Dear, you've no need to assert yourself. Hate me all you like if it please you. I don't mind really." She can't decide whether to be pleased or feel guilty, so instead she feels nothing.

She drinks more, but doesn't touch her roasted chicken in orange sauce. Nor the honeyed lemon rolls with ginger and sesame seeds. She does continue to drink, unfortunately, ending up quite drunk.

After the dessert and the accolades had finished, Joffrey grew bored, and decided to turn his attentions to Arya, an assured source of amusement.

"My Lady." He says, directing his attention to Arya. "You seem to be quite enjoying your wine. Not hungry I take it?" At this he laughs at his own joke, a few others laughing along with him like mindless sycophants.

"I suppose not. Perhaps I don't care for chickens." She says pointedly. Some of the others stop laughing, but Joffrey obviously doesn't get it.

"Well, we'll have to get you something more to your liking. I can't have you getting sick, My Lady."

"I'm surprised you're so concerned for my well being." She says. "I would think it would be quite convenient for you if the Traitor's daughter starved to death." She intones bitterly.

Joffrey obviously senses the venom behind her words and looks at her with malice. Tyrion puts his hand lightly atop hers in warning, she flinches away.

"I believe you to be innocent of any wrongdoing My Lady. But perhaps I am mistaken. Do you have anything you wish to confess?" He asks.

"No, Your Grace. Do you?" There are a few gasps, and she becomes aware of just how much she's had to drink. She can't seem to bite her tongue, and doesn't want to.

"How dare you speak to Your King in such a manner. Retract your question immediately." He demands, a petulant child.

"Of course, Your Grace. After all, we all know the answer." A servant actually drops their tray at this.

"How dare you. What exactly are you accusing me of?" And his pale nostrils flare out at this.

"Nothing. The girl is clearly grief stricken and has drunk too much on an empty stomach. Ignore her." Tyrion attempts to clear the air.

"Quiet, Imp." Joffrey orders. "Now, explain yourself, My Lady." He demands with a snarl.

Now Arya does know she should be quiet, but can't seem to help herself. She had intended to sit quietly and bite her tongue, but the wine had loosened her lips.

"Only that your idea of mercy seems to be lacking."

"That's enough. Get the girl to bed." The Queen bellows.

"Or perhaps you misunderstood your place here. You hold no sway, you do not tell me what my words mean."

"I understand the confusion, you say one thing and do another. How can anyone take you at your word?" She says placing her cup down ungracefully, staring right at Joffrey.

"You name me a liar?! It's not my fault you chose to hear what suits you." His fury transitions to a smirk. The battle suddenly loses all subtext. "Perhaps I could teach you to listen better. I have found there is only one real way to get my point across. Hound." He calls. "Hold the Lady."

Everyone gasps at this, clearly uncomfortable with where this is certainly going, but no one says anything.

"I will not." The Hound says.

"What was that, Dog? I said…"

"Aye, I heard you well enough. But I don't strong arm ladies." He growls. In her drunken state it seems particularly poignant that out of all the fine lords and ladies in attendance, it's The Hound who has scruples.

Not wanting to show his surprise at the clear disobedience, he switches tactics. "Ser Meryn, then."

"As you say, Your Grace." Ser Meryn has no problem following orders; he grabs her roughly and pulls her up, her chair falling over from the force. Joffrey walks over to look her in the eye.

"Now, what was that you were saying, My Lady?" He raises one eyebrow, smugly confident that she will retract her statement and beg his forgiveness. And she should, but she can't.

"I said you have no honor, and it seems you've killed the last man in Westeros who does." His satisfied smirk falls, and he motions to Ser Meryn, a gesture that looks practiced and well-used.

Ser Meryn releases her only to strike her sharply in the face. Arya had never been hit before, and 'The Knight's' steel gauntlet came at her so hard she fell to the ground, grabbing the edge of the tablecloth and causing a few random pieces of silverware to scatter to the floor loudly. The sting was nothing she could have prepared for, the whole right side of her face a pulsing mess. She can't find her balance, and is utterly disoriented. She thinks she may hear protestations, chairs being pushed out, and servants scrambling to clean, but she's not sure of anything just now. But she supposes that the pain should be even worse; the drink must be numbing it some.

After a few moments, Joffrey's pleased face swims into view in front of her. "Ser Meryn, do be so kind as to help the Lady up." He instructs. Ser Meryn goes to do so, but The Queen steps in instead.

"Joffrey, My Sweet, if you damage the girl too much the people will see it." She reasons in a pleasant tone, her crystal earrings jingling.

"Let them see. Let them see what treason in any form will grant you." He speaks quickly, sexually excited, the way he'd been when he'd taken her last night. Maybe more so.

"And so you have, her face will swell and turn colors, and remain so for quite some time. Any further and you may break something, causing permanent damage." Jaime Lannister interrupts.

"Well, we can't have that. Very well, let her get pretty again, then we'll start all over."

Jaime helps her up gently and guides her back to her room, pity plain on his lovely features.

"I'm sorry My Lady. If there is anything…" She shuts the door in his face.

The first thing she does upon entering her room is to ingest more moon tea, taking a bit more than necessary, the nauseating idea of a Lannister in her belly making it difficult to keep the tea down. She finds it difficult to get her jaw to work, the flesh and jaw both tender and stiff. She looks in the mirror and sees that Ser Jaime was right; the skin is puffing out around her eye and the corner of her mouth, already red. She finds it ugly, and gains a sick satisfaction from the thought; she's not so pretty now. She tries to take in every color, every nuance forming, but her swollen eye makes it difficult.

An idea from her days at the Sept sends her to her bag to retrieve the dagger. With a steadier hand than she would have thought she still possessed, she makes a small cut below her eye and presses hard with a cloth to allow the built up fluid to leak out, removing the swelling so she can see properly. There will be a scar, and she is glad for it. She grips the knife tight, pretending the slowly warming steel is the warm hand of her brother comforting her. It's then she notices an inscription, something she'd missed in her first perusal. It says- 'To protect you, when I cannot.'

"No one can protect me." She whispers into the quiet air of the room. "Oh, Jon."

The only thing she wants in that moment is to see him, she knows she'll never feel safe again until she does. Not here. Not in this 'Viper's Nest' as Maester Luwin rightfully called it. But he was so far, so very very far. They'd never let her leave, never give her peace, never let her be. Their promises meant nothing and their threats were understatements. She could trust no one, even those would help her were too cowardly to do so. And they were all Southerners, not her own people. The only one…

Yoren. The Watch. The Wall. Jon. If she could get there…

But how? So far, so dangerous. And she was too recognizable, a girl, alone. But if she could do it…

The blade was now the temperature of her own skin, it almost felt a part of her flesh. She could do it. And with that, a plan was forming, one she was determined to carry out.

A/N: Yay! I mean, all that was horrible, I don't enjoy torturing Arya. But, now she can continue on the road and the rest of the story can begin. These next chapters are what I'm most excited about writing; I hope you're excited to read them.

Teaser- Travels on the road, which will be tweaked to my liking. Finding her family, and losing them again. The Faceless Men, sweet sweet revenge. The Dragon Queen and keeping her vow. There's a long road ahead, I hope you all stick with it. And please review.


	11. Just One of the Recruits

A/N: Can I just say, I've had a fabulous review that absolutely made my day. Seriously, it heartened me. AnabellaGC, muchas gracias. Insightful reviews that address specific themes, characters, plot points, or quotes are so perfect. Feel free to express confusion, suggestions, doubts, and the like; but 'constructive' criticism really helps, ya know. Also, I accept outright encouragement. Now, on to the meat of the story. Oh Gendry, I just love you too much, though I cannot guarantee things will go your way.

Just One of the Recruits

Arya

It wasn't hard to find the means of her escape. She knew the dungeons and the sewers, she knew the schedule of the guards, and she knew the shadows. It was the other part that she found difficult. She told no one, not sure who to trust. She gathered very few supplies- the rest of the herbs, a few rubies from her mourning necklace, so red they were almost black, the blade of course, and the official document and ring. She dressed in her dark pants and tunic, covered all with a hood, and slunk down in the dead of night to the secret passage she'd found before, well, the intriguing prisoner had shown her. It was only when she was in the pitch black of the sewers, prepared to break into the depths of Fleabottom that she came across her first real obstacle.

Why did she hesitate to cut her hair? It was such a silly thing. After everything, all the risks, all the planning, all the steps; but it felt like she was truly giving up herself. Her hair had been with her from the first. She tried to tell herself it was worth it, for her life, for her family's honor, but still she couldn't. It wasn't until she rationalized it would make her less beautiful, that no one would look at her with lust again, that she sprang to action. She cut, well mostly sawed, and hacked at her hair in uneven clumps, shaving her head near bald in some spots. It even hurt a bit, but pain meant almost nothing to her now. She couldn't quite see the tresses fall into the muck, but she knew they had fallen. Binding her chest was suffocating, but the effect of her shirt lying flat was worth it. Next, she rolled around in the mud, dirtying up her brother's fine clothes in an attempt to disguise their good quality. She dipped her boots as well, and kicked them against the walls to scuff them as best she could. She meant to pass for a pauper, an abused orphan boy, dirty, poor, lost.

She wandered for a bit. More of a need to than because she was actually lost. She would be glad to be out of King's Landing. She had tried to help the people, in her way, and failed. All that mattered was getting out of the city unseen, the last avenue the royals would expect. She couldn't quite predict how long it would be until they noticed her absence and came looking for her, or if they would. But she knew she would have to be the opposite of herself. A poor recruit from the Night's Watch was as far from being a disgraced lady as she could imagine. And Yoren, the kind crow who had treated her with respect, was headed North.

As she came upon the group of recruits, she was a little concerned someone might recognize her. She'd kept her hood up when visiting the dungeons, and her breasts were bound painfully tight now, but a part of her still worried. But no one looked twice at her; a dirty, stinky young boy, skinny and of average height. The pouch that held all her valuables she kept in her crotch, it felt strange, but had the added benefit of the appearance of a decent appendage. She thought it could only help her position.

She recognized some from the dungeon, and was careful not to look any of them in the eye. But there were more, making it a rather large group, twenty she counted, which she was quite thankful for. Her eyes landed on Yoren, and she felt something in her gut settle. She stared for longer than she should have, but eventually he gazed back at her. His face showed surprise briefly, then a nod, before he turned away. She calmed further, Yoren knew, and he knew not to draw too much attention her way. She felt she had made the right choice. Still, she was anxious to exit the city walls. She would feel much safer away from the Lannisters. Past that, well, she really couldn't think that far ahead.

She noticed two boys approaching out of the corner of her eye; they looked a bit younger, but quite a bit bigger. One was rather fat, the other blonde and fair, with greenish hands.

"Oye! Boy." The fat one says. It takes her a moment to realize he's speaking to her. She doesn't respond, not even sure if her voice will work. Also, she's concerned about how it will sound.

"Hey, we're talking to you, boy." She ignores the other one too. The fat one bumps into her, hard, knocking her over.

"He can't hear too good, I think. Look, he's got a blade. What's a gutter rat like you doin' with a blade?" Still, she doesn't respond, even as they push her about.

"Maybe he's a squire."

"He ain't no squire, he looks like a girl." She starts to panic, but tries hard not to let it show.

"Let's have a look, then." The blonde one suggests, and the fat one shoves her over.

"I could use fine steel like that. Give it 'ere."

"Youse better give it boy. He's killed before."

"Aye. I've kicked a boy to death. I'll kick you to death." She's pondering the embarrassment of dying here, now, by this lot. "Give it me." And he reaches for it. By an instinct, which she can't quite place, she pulls out the steel and points it at his fat belly.

"Don't test me. I will gut you. I don't mind. I might even like it." She might. The terrified look on his face brings her a kind of sick satisfaction. She wonders if this is what Joffrey must have felt. She has the power. She wants to see him bleed a bit. She hasn't stuck him yet, but with each step he takes one backwards, until they run into a hard surface. A brick wall almost, but no, it's a man. No, it's a boy.

"You like picking on the li'l ones do you? I've been hammering an anvil these past ten years, when I hit that steel, it sings." He has a dangerous look. "You gonna sing when I hit you?" He asks. The fat boy stumbles away, about ready to piss his pants. He turns his gaze to her, and she has to clench her jaw to stop from gasping. Those eyes. He's alive. She doesn't know whether to praise the Gods or to curse them. Indirectly, he'd caused her father's death. And in this moment, she wants nothing to do with him.

"Alright?" He asks. This makes her angry. How dare he ask that? How dare he make her feel weak? How dare he have those eyes?

"Fine." She says testily.

"Don't get mixed up with them lot." He warns, looking at her strangely, greasy black hair hanging over his eyes. She knows why the others fled. She can see his muscles rippling, the leather vest he's wearing missing sleeves.

"They started it." She explains, trying her best to emulate a deeper tone.

"Well, be careful, yeah." Why did he help her, what does he want? His kind blue eyes only remind her of what he's indirectly taken from her, so she just says.

"I can take care of myself." It's more a growl than anything, and she storms off, putting the blade back in its sheath. She thinks she might feel his eyes on the back of her neck, but she keeps walking, determined to put as much distance between them as possible. Either he's bad luck or she is. Either way, she doesn't want to anger The Gods any further. She doesn't think any of it is his fault, not really. But he's a part of it. Being near him can't be good fortune. Besides, if anyone saw them together they might put two and two together. She wants the whole mess behind her. Getting home, seeing Jon, that's all she can focus on right now. Not bright blue eyes, not a sweet gutter accent. Get through the gates, be a boy, be anyone but yourself.

"Alright you sorry sons of whores, it's a thousand leagues to the wall. Move your arses!" Yoren shouts. They all file out, and somehow she's wedged between the two bullies and the smith. Her breathing is a bit shallow as she passes the guards at the gate, but she makes it through without incident. She breathes, the first hurdle crossed. Now there's just the thousand leagues.

They walk and walk and walk. She suspects this will make up the bulk of the journey. She doesn't mind so much, only she isn't really used to it. The two boys start to hassle her again, but the bastard boy gives them a warning look, and they change their minds. She's not sure why he's bothering, but it annoys her. She wants distance from him, so she walks faster. If she thinks about him, she'll think about her father. And she can't right now. She won't let any of them see her cry. She's relatively sure she can't anyway. She hasn't decided if she's glad he's alive or not, and she definitely doesn't want to delve into those complex emotions on Day One.

That first day is tough, though she doesn't complain. A few do, whining and asking for breaks, but she bites her tongue, for once, she's learned her lesson. When they finally settle for the night, she drops where she stands. The physical exertion unlike anything she's ever felt. On the trip with her father, they'd had horses and frequent breaks. Actually, the closest was the long hour shifts at the Sept, which allowed no breaks, babies creating their own time tables. She really does fall, unmindful of comfort, warmth, or nourishment. Her eyes flutter closed, relieved from the many miles distance she'd put between herself and the capital; that the blue-eyed bastard has to shove her roughly to get her attention.

"What?" She asks annoyed, more than exhausted.

"Here." And he hands her some bread and stew. She eyes it for a few moments before accepting the bowl. She slowly sips the contents, pocketing the bread, but all the while eyes him suspiciously. What does he want? What does he know? He's managed to keep those assholes at bay though.

She nods, as much thanks as she's willing to give.

"They'll forget about you soon enough." He placates. Her initial reaction is that he's exhibiting simple kindness. But she knows that's impossible. The bowl is empty, but she's still ravenous, so she licks the inside of the bowl, uncaring of etiquette. It's only after she finishes that he introduces himself.

"I'm Gendry by the way." And he sticks out his hand for her to shake. She notices layers of dirt beneath his fingernails. She wants to ignore him, or better yet tell him to go fuck himself. But she thinks it will draw even more attention to her awkwardness. It takes her another few moments to choose a name for herself.

"Ari." She tells him, shaking his hand in turn. She notices how strong and callused his palm is. He holds her hand longer than necessary, looking at her strangely, and she pulls her hand back violently. She can't help how soft her hands are, how high her voice is, but she is trying to compensate as best she can.

"Stew's not bad." He says, by way of small talk.

"I've had worse." She agrees, though that is certainly a lie. She can already tell that making her voice low will be a challenge, and she'll have to be careful not to speak overly educated.

He's looking at her, well, studying her more like. She turns her face; careful to keep her bruised and battered side in his sight.

He looks about to say more, so she gets up abruptly, where the strength comes from she cannot know, and brings her dish to the boys tasked with the washing for the first shift. Then, she runs off to a secluded spot to relieve herself, before finding a soft place to lay her head. The others settle in, and before she can let herself relax, she sees an infinitesimal signal from Yoren for her to follow. She does so eagerly, calling upon a store of energy she hadn't known she possessed.

They retreat to a secluded part of the woods, far enough away from the others to ensure privacy.

"What are you doing here? How did you manage to…" She doesn't answer, only goes up to him and hugs him tightly. He smells of the North, and his beard is rough, she can almost pretend it is her father giving her comfort as his arms wrap about her.

"Yoren. I don't know what to do. I panicked. I just, want to go home."

"And you will. I'll see to it. But this is a dangerous road. And these aren't exactly genteel travelling companions."

"They can't be much worse than the lords and ladies at court." She comments.

"Well, you'll need to be careful. Hold your water 'til you're sure you're alone. Tell no one, trust no one. I won't be able to help you or give you any special attention. It'll only mark you out. You'll be on your own, but I'll get you where you need to go. For your father, and for you. Do you understand, boy?"

"Ari." She says. He nods in understanding.

"Aye, Ari the orphan boy then. So it is. Watch yourself. We won't have much time to talk after this."

"Thank you Yoren. Thank you, thank you."

"Thank me when I've got you home safe. And be smart, as I know you can be."

"My family will reward you for your loyalty, I promise…"

"Stop that. I don't want no reward. Just to get all of you back safe, no more, no less."

"And what if? I mean, some of them might know me, even recognize me…"

"They won't. Men are stupid. They don't notice anything unless they know what it is they're looking for. Sometimes, not even then. You play the part right, none o' them will ever know the difference. That is what you must count on. For if they do, they'll sell you to The Queen. But first, they'll rape ya. And I won't be able to stop it."

"I will. I'll do all I can. Thank you, Yoren."

"Think nothing of it. Now run along now." And she does leave, recognizing the dismissal for what it is. Most are settled, there's a hush all over the camp as all are too exhausted. She sees a cage with three men, and instantly recognizes the one with red and white hair, but she's careful not to look too long. A ways off she sees the fat one, already asleep, and makes a decision. As quiet as she can, she sneaks up to where he lays, and presses her blade to his throat. He wakes with a start; fear plain in his black eyes and fat cheeks.

"I don't sleep much." She says by way of warning, making her voice as low and menacing as it will go. "Understand?" She asks, pressing the blade down harder. And he nods vigorously, neck fat bobbing. She gets a blanket from the wagon, pleased, and sets herself up close enough to the fire to stay warm, but far enough back to be able to keep a safe distance from the others. Gendry lays his pallet down beside her, and she feels a mixture of confusion, annoyance, and safety that she simply can't deal with right now. She closes her eyes, but doesn't sleep, her muscles get the chance to rest though, and she can feel each twitch in turn.

Again the royal bastard walks beside her, and the two idiots keep their distance, the fat one throwing concerned looks her way. She takes it in with satisfaction. If Gendry knows about her nightly warning, he doesn't show it. She peeks at him when he isn't looking, and she wonders if she'll ever be able to look at him without feeling irrationally angry, without blaming him. But still she can't seem to help it, she keeps looking over, he catches her once and smiles back, aw dam nit. Her legs and feet ache, her face still stings, and her chest feels squeezed tight. She's glad; it takes her mind off of painful thoughts. Though it's dull, not half as scenic and pretty as the first time…

She shakes it off and tries a new tack. Left. Right. Left. Right. The trees. The trees down here are simple redwoods. She can't wait to see her own trees, the trees of The North. No, stop. Right. Left. Right. Left. She focuses on the birds instead. There are birds chirping, but she doesn't know what kind. It's pretty though, she can almost pretend it's the chorus of "The Roadside Rose" a love song some of the girls used to sing. She steps extra hard on a rock and pops a blister to stop herself from humming.

This time, when Yoren calls for them to stop for the night, Arya rushes off to make water as the others get food, grateful for their distraction. She goes to the line late to pick up her food herself. She does need to eat, and she won't have that overly sweet giant of a boy bringing her food again. It's squirrel in broth, bland and tasteless. One of the recruits is handy with traps. Maybe a bit thinner portion due to her place at the end of the line. But she still has the bread from before. It's fine. She sits far off from the others and receives a nod and an almost smile from Yoren before he turns to other business. The boy, Gendry, sits beside her again, and despite herself she's glad for his presence, that is, until he starts speaking again.

"What'd you do to the boy?" He asks. She just stares at him. Unperturbed, he continues. "He looks like he's about to fill his pants, that one." He motions over to the fat boy in question, who looks away quickly at the attention, whispering heatedly with the skinny blonde. A corner of her mouth quirks up at his obvious fear, but it causes pain to shoot through her face and she immediately drops her face back to normal.

"What happened there?" He asks, and she mistakes his pointing for an attempt to touch her, so she tenses up. "Looks painful." He says dropping his hand.

"Got hit." She explains. He nods.

"I can see that. Looks painful though. What'd you do?"

"Asked too many stupid questions." She answers sarcastically. He nods amicably.

"Yeah, gotta be careful 'a that." He smiles around his mouthful, and she can't be sure if he takes her full meaning.

"Why do you keep hanging round me?"

"'Cause you're just so friendly, that's why. And 'cause I'm dyin' a boredom. I'm used to workin' day in, day out. Now I'm just walkin', lost in my thoughts. I gotta have somethin' to distract me."

"Just find somewhere else to sit, yeah." She suggests.

"The others might be better to talk to, but I can't exactly trust 'em. Rapers and murderers and the like. At least I can tell you don't like me, you don't exactly hide it. The way I figure it, there's no where to go but up." He says good-naturedly.

"And what am I to make of you? I can't tell what you want." She reasons.

"I just told you. And if I wanted to hurt ya, I would have already."

She knows it's the truth, and she doesn't have a real reason to dislike his company except that she doesn't know how to be around anybody just now. He must take her silence for acquiescence because he goes on.

"You're a thief then, eh." He says.

"I'm not a thief." She responds angrily.

"Oh yeah? Did you buy that little blade? That's castle-forged steel, that." He asks one eyebrow raised.

One thing the court had taught her was how to speak without saying anything. To lie, you needed to include partial truths, easier to keep straight. And from what she knew of him, he hadn't yet lied to her. There were enough falsehoods running around her brain, she might as well stay as true as possible.

"It was a gift." She admits. He smiles at her.

"Can I see it?" He asks politely. She hesitates. "I'm not gonna nick it." Still she hesitates, but realizes the longer she waits, the odder it must seem. So she does, reluctantly.

He fingers it carefully, lovingly. She sees him finger the words her brother had had engraved for her and has to squeeze her fist to keep from reaching for it back. He hands it back without incident, and she breathes a bit more easily.

"Beautiful steel, balanced. Whoever gave that to you, cared a lot." She swallows at that, putting the blade away carefully. "So if you're not a thief, which are you? Raper or Murderer?" He's joking, she's reasonably sure.

"Neither."

"Really?"

"Yes. What about you?" For the first time since she's met him he looks uncomfortable.

"My master got sick a me. Told me to head for The Wall, that I had no place with him. I could go with The Watch or take to the streets. I chose to freeze my ass off. Stupid, eh?" He shrugs it off like it's nothing, but she can tell it upsets him.

It's then she knows it wasn't his master who'd gotten sick of him. Her father must have arranged it, to save him. He must have cared, must have wanted the boy safe. The oldest son of his oldest friend. Perhaps her father's death was because of Gendry, but that didn't make it his fault. Her father had wanted the boy to live; it's what he'd wanted. And just like that, all the animosity is gone. But none of the caution.

"My brother's at The Wall." She tells him. He looks surprised at the personal tidbit.

"Oh aye? You're lucky. You know someone there, I don't got no one there."

"You've got a skill, I'm sure they'll be glad to have a smith at The Wall."

"How'd you know I was a smith?" He questions. Think quick, Arya.

"You said so yesterday, didn't you?" He accepts her answer.

"I'm not a smith, just a 'prentice." He's modest. She's always liked that quality.

"You make that helm?" She asks.

"Aye." And his face lights up. She holds her hand out, a clear request to see it more closely. He's as reluctant to hand it over as she'd been earlier, but he does so. She can tell it's fine; her brothers would have loved work like his. She hands it back.

"It's nice." She says simply. He's very pleased, a big toothy smile lighting up his face.

They're interrupted by the two bullies, and immediately she puts her guard back up. Gendry doesn't move, but his posture stiffens and his gaze turns dangerous.

"Oye, umm, hi. I'm Hot Pie. And this is Lommy." The fat one says. She's confused as to where this is going. If he's waiting for an introduction from her, he's mistaken.

The blonde stutters on. "We're sorry, 'bout the other day. We didn't mean nothing. Just wanted to look tough and all that. We don't want no trouble." He says. They don't want their throats slit, she reasons.

"Have a seat." Gendry invites. She turns to glare at him, but he doesn't look back at her. The boys gratefully sit down by them. "I'm Gendry, this is Ari." He introduces. For fucksakes. The boys smile warmly at them, and then she has to sit through dull talk and monotonous drivel. How was this happening? She'd wanted to stay alone, unnoticed. They all settle for the night, the two boys seeming to think they can sleep near her and Gendry.

Gendry nudges her with his elbow. "We're better off together." He says.

She wants to run off into the woods, to huff and move her blanket to a far away corner, to be free of warm smiles and friendly conversation. Letting herself like Gendry was already a horrible mistake, the other two would only be an annoyance. And a weakness. But as she looks around camp, she can see they're all scattered into smaller groups. It's normal, what's expected. It would look more suspicious to stay alone she rationalizes a little too easily. As she lies down, surrounded by the body heat of the three others, more comfortable, and more relaxed, she feels her eyes water a bit. It's harder, she thinks, to let herself be human. Luckily no one can see; it's too dark. No tears actually fall, anyhow.

A/N: Thanks to all who are still here. This got really long, because I'm so excited to write it. I'll probably post more within a couple days; I have a lot of great road adventures for Arya, Gendry, and the others. If you have any preferences for how Gendry finds out Arya is a girl, please let me know, I'm still undecided. Or, just review please.


	12. On the Road

On The Road

Arya

She sleeps lightly, too afraid of nightmares and revealing too much. And like the night before, she finds herself less exhausted than when she'd lye down in the first place, but not actually rested. The three boys are still asleep around her, Hot Pie snoring not quite loudly enough to wake the others. For the second time, Gendry is curled up nearest to her, taking up as little space as possible given his large frame, like he's used to sleeping on a tiny mattress, not yet used to the ample ground. With his eyes closed she's not distracted by the blue, and she can see how long his lashes are, how his ears stick out a bit, and how soft his lips look. He's a kind giant, she's officially decided. What to do with him was another matter entirely. Her father had felt responsible for him. So now she was too, especially since she couldn't seem to be rid of him anyway. And he did serve as a kind of friendly guard dog, or maybe a bull, like his helm. In actuality, a stag, but he didn't know that.

She got up to make water before the sky was fully light, taking the opportunity to unwrap her chest, scratch to her heart's content, and redo the wrapping. She also readjusted the pouch to a more manageable position. She felt her face too, it didn't hurt so much, but it was quite stiff, and still slightly swollen. She had no mirror to inspect her reflection more closely, but it was a few days in, so she could imagine it would be turning blue and purple around the edges. If she were so inclined, she might make a compress of rosemary and cinnamon to place on the swelling, but it wasn't available, and besides, she would rather slow the healing than quicken it. The ugly marks were a godsend; they added to her tough persona, reduced the chance of being recognized, and made her undesirable.

Breakfast that morning was to be biscuits and salted squirrel. A few of the older recruits were already waiting in line; she took her place, and with a quick glance back at her little group, took enough for each. The man handing out the portions looked suspicious, but told her if she was lying, she'd go without for the next few days. Hot Pie woke immediately to the smell of breakfast, and smiled as he took the shares for the three of them. He hungrily scarfed down his portion, and looked longingly at the rest. She gave him such a nasty look; hand on her sheath that he put the food down gently. She walked off satisfied; she'd already reached her quota of nice for the day.

Apparently, The Gods must have seen her reluctant good deed, because after midday, Yoren announced that her little group would have a turn riding in the wagons. Lommy climbed up fine, but Hot Pie had to scramble up. Her and Gendry watched, then looked at each other, before chuckling at the scene. Gendry climbed aboard the second wagon, and while she could have gone with the two idiots, when Gendry held his hand out to her, she clasped it and let him pull her up. While her feet were glad for the reprieve, she worried about the consequences to her sanity. Too much free time, led to too much thought. She needn't have worried though, after a few bumpy stretches of road, the sun shining down, she fell into a deep sleep.

In the dream, which she knew was a dream, she was riding on a horse, black as night, through the same King's Road. On her right, her father, alive and well, if a little pale; just the two of them. She takes in every detail, focusing primarily on his warming smile, the soft grey of his eyes.

"Will we make it home?" She asks. Though there's so much more she wants to say and ask, it's all that comes out.

"I won't, I'm afraid." And he pats his speckled mare lovingly.

"But then, where will you go?"

"Don't worry yourself yet, love. I'll ride the roads with you as far as I can." There's a particularly rocky stretch, and her horse hobbles and whinnies.

"How far is that?"

"Well, it's not so much _how far_ as only some of the time." He explains, or tries to.

"But, what about the rest of the way?"

"Well that's why there's the boy." He explains.

"I know. I'm to look out for him, and I will, but…"

"No, my daughter. I sent him to look out for you." The horse rears and she loses her grip, caught unawares, tumbling to the ground, before his grip keeps her upright.

Only the hand holding her up isn't that of Eddard Stark, it's Gendry, keeping her from falling off the wagon.

"Woah there. Alright?" He asks. She hadn't wanted to wake. There was so much more she wanted to ask him, if she could she would sleep forever.

"Did I say anything?" She asks Gendry, worried about what she had given away in her sleep.

"Nah. You was just smiling for a bit." She nods, assured. He hands her some water, and she drinks almost all of it before it occurs to her he might be thirsty too. She offers it to him, but he shakes his head.

"I already drank my fill. You go on." She's drinking the rest before he's finished talking. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, the cool water feels good on her bruised cheek.

"Looks better." He says. "Should be almost normal in a couple days." He comments on her face. That's not what she wants, not what she wants at all. "Where do you reckon we are now?" He asks conversationally.

"Near Hayford territory, I expect." She answers, having been wondering the same thing herself. He looks at her surprised.

"Ya think? How da ya know?" Crap.

"I don't. It's just a guess." True enough, she can't be sure.

"Where are you from, Ari?" She's trying to come up with a lie but he keeps talking. "I know you're not from King's Landing. You don't talk like it."

"Maidenpool." She says, feeling a bit guilty for lying.

"Maidenpool? And a brother on The Wall. What you doin' all the way down 'ere?"

"Bad luck." She jokes. He snorts at that.

"I never been outta King's Landing. I may be givin' up my freedom, but at least I'm seein' a bit o the world. Not much, but. Well, it's somethin' innit?"

"I always wanted to travel across The Narrow Sea. Bravos and Essos."

"Across the sea? You're braver than me then, I'd be too afraid. I can't swim." He says.

"Well, you won't need to swim at The Wall. All the water's frozen."

"Aye, suppose you're right. And Maidenpool, what's 'at like?"

"Not so crowded. Nor so hot. How do you stand it?" She asks, feeling the sweat accumulating in her pits, unable to escape through the bandages tied tight.

"I'm used to it. It's ten times as hot in the forge. I'm worried about the snowy North, to be honest. I'll prolly freeze my bollocks off. Oh well, won't really need 'em anyway." It had been a long time since anyone used such language with her. Her brothers used to, then they'd get a slap from her mother, and they'd be more careful. More than anything else, it endeared the boy to her. And she finds herself laughing, genuinely laughing for the first time in who knows how long. He laughs along with her and it's a pleasant ride in the wagon from then on.

They set up camp while it's still light, Yoren wanting the chance to do a bit of hunting before dark to replenish their stores of meat.

Gendry hops down, and helps her out too. He walks to the nearest tree, and starts peeing, a strong, heavy stream. She tries not to, but does peak for an instant. He doesn't notice, and she quickly wanders off with some story about collecting wood for the fire.

After a satisfying piss, she sets about on her task. She finds many twigs, thick and little, older and new. She's not sure which kind is best, so she grabs a variety. A bit farther on she sees seeds scattered, and apple cores pecked clean. She looks up to see a huge tree, maybe ten times her height, within its leaves she can make out green orbs, apples. The lowest branch is still too high, and she curses in frustration.

Heading back into camp, arms laden with branches and the like, she hears a whisper.

"Psst. Boy. Lovely boy." She looks up and finds it originated from the cage. It's the mysterious man; the overly polite one. "A man has a terrible thirst. This man would be grateful for a drink of water." She hesitates, but she remembers a time he was kind to her, he showed her the secret passage, never spoke rudely to her. Denying him something so simple seemed to go against who she wanted to be. No, she doesn't want his discomfort on her conscience. She sets the bundle aside and fills a cup for the man.

He takes it without incident, eyeing her the entire time. She makes to turn away, but he says. "You are called, Ari." She nods, turning the unmarked side of her face away. "Do you remember a man's name, boy?' He asks. She hesitates.

"Jaquen Haguar." She says.

"Just so. From the free city of Lorath. A pleasure." A Lorathi, what was he doing down here?

Another in the cage shouts. "Give us a drink too, you little shit. Beer. Wine. Now."

"I 'aven't got beer." She says, voice as low as she can make it.

"Then come 'ere. A little thing like you. I'll fuck you bloody, fuck you proper." And he sneers at her, tongue wiggling so lewdly it makes her stomach churn.

"What do you think you're doin'? Yoren said to stay away from that lot." Gendry says from behind her, steering her away from the cage, her discarded bundle in one arm.

"A man begs pardon for his companions, they lack common courtesy." The Lorathi says to their backs. She turns around against her better judgment and looks him in the eye; he lifts the corner of his mouth in response. Gendry turns her round again.

"Stay away from them." He warns.

"They're in a cage." She responds. She's not sure why she's making excuses, but she does feel drawn to the Lorathi, and she's relatively certain she won't stay away from him.

"Yeah. 'Cause they're dangerous." She can't argue with that. And she doesn't want to fight with him. She has a better idea. He deposits the branches near the team in charge of the fire, and she motions to him to follow her. He does so without question.

At the tree with the apples he understands without her having to tell him, his face lighting up at the prospect. He laces his fingers together like a stirrup, she steps in, and he boosts her up to the nearest branch. It's still quite high, and she has to stretch to reach. It takes all of her strength, but she pulls her body up ungracefully, and steps onto the thick branch.

"Alright?" He calls up.

"Yeah." She calls down. Carefully she climbs higher until she's within reach of the fruit.

"Oye!" She shouts, looks down for his black head of hair, plucks an apple and tosses it down as far away from him as she can manage. Not far. He gets the idea though and moves out of the way. She picks as many apples as she can reach, six total, though one is rather tiny.

Slower than the climb, she makes her descent. One branch at a time, slowly lowering herself little by little.

"Just jump Ari, I've got ya." She's only half way down, but the idea of jumping, of Gendry catching her, causes her to continue her downward climb.

"Come on, it'll be dark soon." His voice startles her, and her boot slips on a smoother patch of bark. She feels herself fall, the wind knocked out of her chest by the drop, but she's caught before she hits the ground. "See, I got ya." And he's smiling at her, all smug. She is relieved, but quickly sets herself upright, mutters a quick thanks, and starts to collect the apples.

"You're welcome." He says. On closer inspection, the apples are under ripe. She points this out to Gendry crestfallen.

"They just need more time." He says rationally. She smiles back at his good sense. He stores the apples in his shirt, and hands the good one to her. "Here. This one'll do."

"I'll cut it." She suggests.

"Nah, it was your idea. Your hard work. You have it."

"You helped. Besides, I'd feel bad."

"Ari, you don't have ta…"

"Eat the fucking apple." She insists. He chuckles and nods. She cuts the apple up with her blade, the third time she's used it in as many days, and thanks Jon once more for his thoughtful gift. They both eat in silence, the fruit is a bit bitter, but neither minds. It's sweeter from the effort, and the sharing. They decide on the way back to give the teeny one to Hot Pie and Lommy to share. The boys are actually thrilled with the apple, and she suspects they'll be loyal from now on. They hide the rest in his helmet, eat the roasted pigeon, and settle in for the night. She yawns and stretches, her shirt rising a bit to reveal some of her stomach, too excited to sleep, hoping to see her father again in her dreams. She feels a prickling on the back of her neck, and becomes aware of the proximity of the other men and boys. When she looks over, all eyes are closed, but she feels self-conscious.

She'd let her guard down. Thinking about her skin showing, knowing how small and delicate she looked, remembering the other murderer's interest in fucking her bloody, she sets off from the group. She goes off once more to make water, though she doesn't really have to go. Her breasts are secured, but she can't do anything about the curve of her waist and hips, and the possibility of someone noticing.

She feels her face; the pain is at a minimum now. The light of the moon allows her to see the forest floor, where she finds a few pebbles. She picks them up in her palm, and harshly rubs them over her damaged face, the rough edges disturb the healing flesh, making the muscles of her cheek and jaw scream out in pain, and reopening the cut by her eye. There, she thinks, it'll swell once more, and take a few days longer to heal. She'll be ugly, she'll be safe.

A/N: Things are better; she actually has a circle of friends now. But there are lots of issues she's not dealing with. I thought about writing nightmares for her, but I just couldn't torture her like that. I like the idea of a safe haven in sleep. The road can be frightening. More road hijinks up next. Also, **REVIEW** please!


	13. On The Road 2

On the Road 2

Arya

It had been over a week, and she felt like they had a routine going. She'd timed her piss breaks perfectly, her accent was more authentic, she hadn't any more confrontations with Jaquen, or Yoren, or the figure of her father in her dreams. She was always anxious to sleep, but had yet to see her father again. But she had faith he would return, he'd said he would, and he always kept his word.

She was even more comfortable with her immediate companions, she felt herself smiling and laughing more, not often, but more. They'd finished all the apples and they were the best she'd ever tasted. Once she accepted that Lommy and Hot Pie were just idiots, young and naïve, she began to find them amusing. Some of the things they said were just so stupid and unfounded, that rather than try to argue with them, she let them talk in circles.

"The food'll be better at The Wall." Hot Pie states assuredly.

"Yeah, what makes you so sure?" Lommy questions.

"Well, they'll have kitchens, anyway. Maybe they'll act'ally let me help. That'll be something."

"Who cares about the food? It'll be bloody cold." Lommy complains, to which Gendry grumbles his ascent.

"Maybe not. They must got fires and warm coats and the like." Hot Pie suggests.

"People have survived for generations on The Wall, and generations more. If you're strong, work hard, you'll be fine." She says.

"You won't need a coat, you gots all that extra fat to keep warm." Lommy jokes, shoving Hot Pie and then running away.

"Oye, fuck you." Hot Pie defends.

"You'll be fine, you'll be in the kitchen." Gendry says.

"And you'll be in the forge. But Ari and I will for sure freeze, we ain't got no meat on our bones." Lommy worries.

"Everyone fights, no matter what. Every man is expected to defend The Wall."

"From what?" Gendry asks seriously.

"What do you know 'bout it?" Hot Pie asks at the same time.

"Ari's got a brother on The Wall." Gendry explains. She glares at him, but he doesn't notice or pretends he doesn't.

Lommy and Hot Pie look at Ari with newfound interest.

"Oye. Don't hold out on us." Hot Pie says.

"Yeah, what's it like?" Lommy asks.

"I've never been."

"Still, ya gotta know something." They plead.

"How's the food?" Hot Pie asks again.

"I dunno. There's fewer animals up there, 'cause the cold." Hot Pie's face drops at that. "But the surrounding districts give something during the coldest months. No one'll let The Watch starve to death. Without them… us, the realm would be lost."

"But what's up there? What're we fighting?" Gendry asks.

"I heard stories, that's all. But, I don't know."

"Well, one thing, I know there ain't no women up there." Lommy whines.

"Damn shame, that." Hot Pie laments.

"What do you care? You ain't never been with a girl." Lommy teases.

"How do you know? Have you?" Hot Pie counters.

"No, but I saw plenty naked." Lommy says. Both Hot Pie and Gendry look doubtful at that, but interested. Even Arya is attentive, this story should be good. "Most of the women would get naked while dyin', to keep their clothes clean. I remember the sight o' their titties bouncing as they worked, pink nipples, sometimes brown. I touched one once, Merilee was next to me, she turned and hit me in the face with one. Best moment of my life." He has a wistful smile on his face, but the others are laughing. Arya might have found such a story crude once, but now she just finds it sad. The best moment of his life, and he'll not get another like it.

"I kissed a girl." Hot Pie says, not to be outdone. "Her name was Trudi, she was a seamstress down the road from me. I gave her a lemon tart 'stead of throwin' it away. She kissed me right on the lips."

"What'd she look like?" Lommy wants to know.

"She had blonde blonde hair, and she was nice and plump. Her lips were so soft, like juicy summer cherries." Everything's food with him. And no one's surprised that he prefers chubby girls. Without knowing why, Arya speaks next.

"And you, Gendry?" He looks surprised she'd asked.

"I've kissed girls." He says. She believes him, she's sure he's done more than that.

"Yeah, but. Have you done more, gone all the way?" Lommy prompts.

"I… yeah, I've done more." Girls must have thrown themselves at him, she's not surprised.

"Well, details, come on man, don't hold out on us." Hot Pie pushes.

"None of your business." Gendry answers, a slight blush creeping up his neck.

"What about you, Ari?" Lommy asks her. And just like that, all the attention snaps to her.

"No, I never been with a girl." She answers honestly.

"And you ain't never kissed one either?" She shakes her head no. "Never been hit in the face with a tit like Lommy? Nothing?" Hot Pie jokes. She's considering the constant teasing she will receive based on her answer, and makes a decision.

"I've touched 'em." She says. Gendry raises his eyebrows at that.

"And, describe 'em. How big were they?" Lommy cups his hands in front of his chest in different sizes, trying to coerce more details.

"Not that big." She can't believe she's describing herself this way, like a piece of meat. "Average, I guess."

"Who was she?" Gendry asks.

"Just a girl."

"Pretty?" Hot Pie inquires.

"Average." She responds.

"You know, you're kinda boring, Ari." Lommy complains. "And you're even worse, Gen. I mean, have some pity. We ain't never gonna get the chance now. A few details won't kill you."

"That's not entirely true." Arya says. "There are whores in Mole's Town." She says. They all look at her expectantly.

"The Night's Watch can't have no women, everybody knows that." Another recruit nearby hears their conversation and interjects. Daryn, she thinks his name is, he's older.

"We can't take no wives or have no children." Gendry says.

"There's whores though. As long as you're not stupid about it, and you're back for your shifts, no one gives a shit." At least that's what she'd overheard her uncle Benjen say on his last visit from The Wall.

"Your brother tell you that?" Hot Pie asks.

"Yeah." She lies. And she wonders if Jon's partaking in those same prostitutes, if their uncle was taking care of him.

"Well, that's the best news I've heard all day." Daryn remarks, clapping her on the shoulder. The others cheer up as well.

"You got any money though?" Gendry asks seriously. And everyone looks more sullen.

"Prolly ugly anyway, those Northern girls." Another man, Penn maybe, adds.

"You ever seen a Northern girl?" Daryn asks him.

"No, never been past Fairmarket. But cold weather breeds hard women, everyone knows that."

"I bet they're still plenty warm between their thighs though." And they both laugh.

"Just turn 'em around, it don't matter as long as you don't gotta look at 'em in the face."

"I dunno about the whores, but I saw one o' their highborns though." She perks up at that, but schools her features to remain blank.

"Yeah, when? Ain't no highborn Northerners in the brothels." Penn jokes.

"Nah, I ain't said I fucked her. I saw her in the dungeons."

"Ain't no highborns in the dungeons, stupid."

"There was. She came in, all curves and silk, smelling like fresh bread, and girly smells." Arya tenses.

"What was she doin' in the dungeons?"

"Talkin' me into comin' on this gods-forsaken march. She coulda talked me into anythin' at that point, full belly, and that soft voice. I wouldn'ta minded buryin' myself in that." The two men laugh heartily, and the others chuckle, a little unsure exactly why. For her part, Arya feels nauseous.

"Fuckable, then?"

"Aye, I tell you I just gotta picture those moist pink lips and that firm little ass, and I'm cummin' in no time. Looked like she could suck the black off a crow, that one." They laugh again, and Arya fakes a limp, hopping, slowing down, then proceeds to take her boot off, shaking it out for a nonexistent pebble.

On the one hand, they clearly hadn't recognized her, but on the other… Uggghh.

The monotony of the day, and of the march itself, is broken up when Yoren lets them stop midday. They unload, caring for the horses first thing, but then they're led to a pond not far off, if slightly hidden by trees and bushes. No one would know it was there from the road, but of course Yoren knew the roads as well as the back of his own hand, as he would say.

The little pond is inviting, sparkling under the sun, water nice and blue. The men don't even hesitate as they strip and jump in. She sees more saggy guts, hairy balls, pimply asses, and hairy scraggly chests than she ever wanted to in her whole life. If the talk from earlier wasn't enough to put her off men in general, the current display would just about do it. What she wouldn't give for the chance to bathe, to be free of the too-tight binding around her chest, to wash under her armpits and between her legs, to scrub her scalp raw; but she can't. It's cruel almost, to watch them enjoy themselves, cool off beneath the sun, rid themselves of stenches and woodsy creatures. She pretends to busy herself with setting their things to rights, caring for the horses, sorting belongings. But the others notice her absence.

"Oye, Ari, come on in." Hot Pie yells cheerfully.

"Yeah, the water's great!" Lommy adds.

"I can't swim." She says.

"Don't matta. It's not deep. Anyways, we'll not let ya drown." Gendry offers.

She can see how deep it's not, Gendry's standing and she can see quite a bit of him. Whereas with the boys and old men, she couldn't look away fast enough, she has trouble turning away from Gendry. She does, but out of the corner of her eye she misses nothing. When she'd first met him, she'd seen his eyes and hair, that coupled with the context; she'd quickly deduced who his father was. But the more time she spent with Gendry, the farther apart the two seemed. The fat, drunken, bearded king, and the kind, shy, Gendry. Gendry was tall, his hair was wet and stuck to his forehead, little droplets of water hung in those long eyelashes, he had no fat, only muscle from pounding steel; she understood why he intimidated the others.

The King loved whores, and made no secret of it. Gendry had said he'd been with girls, though she couldn't imagine he had much to spend. When the women at The Sept, the ones who'd come frightened and alone, begged for help to undo their mistakes, Arya had thought them foolish. To fall for men's lies, to let themselves be weak, to ignore the consequences, well; she hadn't had as much pity as she should have. She could understand now wanting to be held, wanting the feel of a warm body to keep you safe, to feel less alone. And more and more lately, her eyes would wander to Gendry, she slept closer to him than the others, and she enjoyed making him smile. She'd seen him piss often enough, but always turned away, mostly. Here she watched every water drop drip down his hair, cheekbones, and the grooves in his chest, shoulders, and stomach.

"Ari, get the camp ready for the night, and keep your eye out on our stuff, yeah." Yoren instructs, giving her a plausible excuse not to bathe, and she gratefully runs off, trying not to look too rushed.

She collects wood, many armloads before she's satisfied. She finds some bushes with wild nuts and picks as much as she can carry, bringing her treasure back to camp. She's always looking for new herbs and plants on her forays into the woods; she'd already found sage for fever, burdock for rashes, buckthorn for digestion, and she had bit of the moon tea left, just in case. She gets to work on the nuts, placing them in a sturdy bowl, and pounding them with a nice-shaped rock. It takes quite a while but she manages to get through the hard shells to the meat underneath. She tries one and moans out loud in pleasure. Up North these were a delicacy, and she wouldn't waste a single one.

"Hey." It's coming from the cage. For an instant, she assumes it's Jaquen, but as she looks up, she can see it's one of the others, the one who'd asked for beer. "Come closer boy, let's have a look at you." He requests.

"No." She says. She imagines that however hot and uncomfortable she is, the men in the cage must feel it ten times worse. So she ignores them rather than take offense.

"Pretty boy. So pret'y. I know you. I know you." He says louder, more sure.

"The boy brought water, nothing more." Jaquen says, and she's grateful to him.

"No. Pretty pret'y. I know you. From before. Bread and grey eyes. Not a boy, but a girl." She drops the rock she was holding, nothing she can say, she hopes to ignore him. No such luck.

"Girl. Girl." He repeats. "Come 'ere then, girl. I promised to fuck you." She begins to panic, she stands as if to run, but doesn't know where to go. "Girl, girl. Come 'ere, girl!" His shouts are so loud, she's sure someone else must hear. As he keeps screaming, she looks around behind her, checking for approaching recruits, imagining all the possible consequences, what she'll do when someone hears. But the shouting suddenly stops. She spins back around to find him on the floor of the cage, unmoving. The third man, the one with part of his face missing, is huddled back in the corner of the cage, and Jaquen is standing calmly, looking directly at her. She walks closer, her feet moving without her permission. As she gets closer, she sees the man on the ground's chest isn't moving, and his eyes look empty. He is dead, she realizes, and all the while, Jaquen's gaze hasn't left hers.

Eventually a few of the others stroll over, and she backs up slowly from the cage. One notices the body, and shouts for Yoren. Jaquen and the other are questioned, so is she.

"What happened here?" Yoren asks.

It's the quiet one cowering in the corner who answers. "We ain't had water all day, or yesterday. It's hot." He explains, looking frequently at Jaquen for confirmation.

Yoren doesn't look completely convinced, but accepts the explanation eventually. They position six men around the cage, all pointing swords at the two prisoners within. Two more open the door and pull out the body, before shutting it again. They check him, and sure enough, he's dead. But they find no mark to explain why. Arya looks back at Jaquen, who nods slowly as if to say 'you're welcome.'

They need to bury the body far from camp, and Arya volunteers to be one of the four. The man is dead because of her, but she hadn't done it herself. As her father would have. The least she could do is clean up the mess. The dirt gets under her fingernails and the smell of the newly rotting corpse in the hot sun clings to her skin.

Everyone is in a strange state, refreshed from the swim, but uncomfortable with the very real death of one of their own, even one who'd made them uncomfortable.

Just then a lone howl fills the air, a wolf keening low and long, perhaps smelling the corpse and getting hungry. There's some tensing around her, a few mutters, and more curses of fear.

"No one goes off alone, hear me?" Yoren warns before taking his post as watch. Everyone agrees, and clumps even more tightly into groups. Even Gendry, Hot Pie and Lommy sleep close, despite her stench. These men are tough, and they're afraid. There are twenty of them, some grizzled, criminals, with weapons and pasts. But this one lone wolf, bold, and unafraid; that scares them. She's a wolf too, she can be bold. She smiles wolfishly.

She waits until everyone is asleep, even Yoren. Then waits just a little bit longer for the night to turn so dark nothing is visible beyond a few feet. Her boots are kept off, and she tiptoes more quietly than she ever has before. She's sneakier than when she'd escaped out her room before dress fittings, stole pies from the kitchens, or hid during embroidery sessions.

This is all so dangerous, the pond isn't that far from the road, but it isn't plainly visible. She goes around to the farthest side, and finds a good spot with a lot of moss and other covering. She knows it's stupid, but can't make herself turn back. She sets her pouch beneath some leaves, and sticks her blade into the moist ground near the edge, ready at a moment's notice, just in case. She strips at lightening speed, and leaves it all in a heap by the edge. She carefully wades in, not making much noise. It feels strange after so long, but her body quickly acclimates to the temperature.

Once in, completely covered by the surface of the water, she grabs the clothes and the bar of soap she'd pilfered, she's careful to only get the dirty parts wet, to make sure they dry fast. She scrubs at the stains near the collar of the tunic, goes over the creases in the pits and the groin of her pants repeatedly until the smells are at an acceptable level. Her breast binding she soaks and scrubs, it's frayed and darkened with body oils and sweat, so it still smells strange when she's through, but she hangs the lot up on a nearby branch. Finally, she can clean herself, her head has dried flakes of skin between the hair follicles, and she can feel the shortest pieces growing out. She's careful to do behind her ears as her mother always used to remind her, and takes the time for her most intimate places. She hasn't been in long, she'd promised herself no more than ten minutes. She hears a rustling in the bushes and immediately goes on alert.

The wolf, she wonders? Surely a Stark need not fear wolves. There's more rustling. She grabs for the blade and holds it out in front of her. The rustling's stopped, but she's sure she didn't imagine it. She steps out quickly, unmindful of the noise, and peels her eyes in every direction. Her breaths are shallow, and once more she wonders what her fate will be. She sees a shadow, but can't make it out, it's no animal. Without taking her eyes off the movement, she bends down to pick up her clothes, blindly groping with her left hand she comes across the tunic. Rather than let herself lose sight of the threat, she only holds the damp shirt against her front before confidently addressing the figure.

"Show yourself." She says, gripping the steel. Though she has no idea what she'll do, there are only a few of them she could overpower with the blade, and even then, the noise would likely alert more people. Not even Yoren could protect her then. Her only real course of action would be to make an offer or…

"It's me." Says the voice, coming closer, footsteps sheepish. She lets out a big sigh of relief.

"Gendry." The hand clasping her shirt flattens against her chest, feeling her heartbeat slow. "What are you doing out here?" She asks.

"I was looking for you. Yoren said not to go off alone. I thought the wolves would get you, or…" He doesn't finish his sentence, his eyes are too busy roaming along her body, head to toe and back again, mouth agape.

"For fucksakes." She mutters, swinging the blade round emphatically. He puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender, the shock mixing with a bit of fear. "Well…" She looks at him expectantly. He doesn't move. "Would you mind?" She opens her eyes wider and gestures with the blade.

"Oh. Yeah o' course." And he turns around. "I'll keep watch."

She lets out a disbelieving huff. She puts the blade between her teeth and wriggles into the damp top. She grabs for the rest, but finds them still quite wet. Stupid. She hadn't thought this through well at all. If it had been anyone else…

"You're a girl." He says, still turned away from her.

"Clearly." She only has herself to blame and shouldn't take it out on him, but she hates how helpless she feels, almost naked in the dark. "Damn." She curses.

He turns at this, makes to turn back again, but she motions him not to bother. "It's alright."

He obviously has more he wants to say, but he's still having trouble concentrating enough to get words out. His gaze is particularly locked to her chest, to which she looks down and realizes how see-through the material is, even in the dark. She crosses her arms over her breasts uncomfortably. But she finds she can't make eye contact with him either. She sighs, and sits on a flat surface, and motions him to sit with a shift of her head. He does, but looks even more flustered sitting next to her, it's easier though sitting side by side.

"How… ummm…" He swallows and tries again. "What's a girl doing travelling with The Watch? Girls can't take the black, can they?"

"Of course not." She wrings out a wet clump of hair. "Yoren's taking me home, it's on the way." He does look at her face then.

"So Yoren knows?"

"That's right."

"Who else?" The dead prisoner from the cage. Jaquen. But she keeps that to herself.

"Now you do." And she looks at him intently and reaches for his hand. "You can't tell anyone. Not Hot Pie, not Lommy, not anyone. Please Gendry." She begs. He looks down at their entwined hands.

"Of course not. I wouldn't. I swear it." She lets out another huge breath of air.

"Good. Thank you." She'd never really thought she would have to worry about him. It hadn't been long, but she knew she could trust Gendry. She lets go of his hand to wring out the breast binding. His eyes travel to her legs. "Gendry." She says to get his attention.

"Sorry. How long… I mean. How didn't I know? How?"

"Men are stupid. No offense." He just nods.

"I knew there was something." He says and she looks at him expectantly. "Well, I didn't know. I mean, when I first met you, you smelled so nice and all. And your skin's so soft, but then after a while…" He trails off once more, and she rolls her eyes.

She decides things will be better once she gets dressed, no matter how wet her clothes are. She uses his shoulder to lift herself up and pulls her pants up behind his back.

"Still, it's not safe." He continues his thought.

"Well, it was the only way I could get out of King's Landing. This is practically the last place they'd look for me." She defends.

"Who?" Who indeed? The Queen. Joffrey. Lord Baelish, perhaps.

"The Queen." She says simply. His eyebrows shoot up at that.

"So you're important then?" He asks.

"Yes, in a way. If she got her hands on me, it would be… very bad."

"You're important. That's why you've got soft hands, and you talk like you do."

"Talk like what?"

"You don't talk like the rest o' us, I noticed that straight away." Ah, so he wasn't completely oblivious. Still, she had thought she had managed a passable accent. "You rich?"

"Not at the moment." She answers honestly.

"You… a highborn? A lady?" He seems a bit frightened.

"Before this, yes. And if I make it home… But you can't…."

"Ah shit. You're a lady. And I've been pissing in front o' you and everythin', I…"

"Quit it!" And she shoves him hard in the shoulder. "Don't make a big deal out of it. That's the last thing I need, you treating me like some noble lady and everyone getting suspicious. I'm just Ari, understand?"

"Yeah, yeah. O' course. Sorry."

"Forget it. Look, we should get back. You go first, I'll wait a few minutes. It won't look as strange." He nods in understanding. She walks behind another bush and reties the bindings before heading back too.

He's on his pallet, the exact same spot, eyes clearly open in the moonlight, searching for her. Something about it makes her chest loosen, to have someone know about her, and wait up for her. She lays down beside him, like always, and falls asleep easily. She doesn't feel Gendry breathe in her newly cleaned hair and skin.

In her dream she's sitting upright watching the stars, the constellations easy to recognize from her time in Winterfell.

"Hello, love." It's her father, seated beside her eating a few of the nuts she'd cracked. She wastes no time this time and hugs him tightly. He hugs her back tightly. "Everything alright, love?" He asks into her shorn hair.

"I was careless, but it'll be fine. I'll be better from now on."

"Don't worry so much. You've always been too careful. Your mother's fault, I'm sure."

"Well maybe you weren't careful enough." And there's a bite in her words. She immediately feels guilty.

"Aye, you're right."

"I'm sorry. Forgive me, father."

"Of course, love." And he strokes her hair.

"Is mother alright? Jon?"

"Yes." He says with a sad smile. "Rest now, love." And he lays her down, and tucks a thick blanket around her. She feels safe and warm, whole, digging her fingers into the fabric and rubbing her face into the fibers.

Light and scattered voices rouse her from slumber. She awakes to realize her fingers have dug into Gendry's shirt and her face is pressed intimately against his bare chest. She scrambles up ungracefully and mutters an apology.

"S'alright." He says, looking at her warmly. She goes off to make water, very glad her clothes have dried in the night, and though she smells better, she still feels the clothes sitting strangely against her skin. Upon her return she sees her little pack talking over breakfast, and she has a stab of irrational fear that he's told them. But when Hot Pie holds up her food invitingly, and Lommy doesn't even look up, she feels ashamed for doubting Gendry.

Unfortunately, Gendry is looking at her funny. She gives him an annoyed look, and he quickly looks elsewhere. They begin the day's trek, and Gendry tugs on her sleeve to signal that he wants to walk in the back, presumably he has more questions.

"Sleep well?" He asks. She blushes.

"Sorry about that, I didn't know what I was doing."

"I don't mind." They walk for a few more minutes in silence, the slower pace grating on her nerves a bit.

"What's your name, your real name?" She considers lying, telling more partial truths, but now that she's decided to trust him it seems almost counterproductive.

"Arya." He repeats it in a whisper. "Of House Stark." And she bites her lip.

"Stark?!" He says too loudly, she quickly determines no one heard, but glares at him. He only makes it worse. "Your father was The Hand of the King, the traitor…"

"He was never a traitor! He was the most honorable man that ever lived. Joffrey's a liar. That cunt Cersei too. Don't you ever say that again." Her voice is dangerous, not loud but controlled.

"Sorry, sorry…" He was just repeating what he'd heard she knows.

"He was never a traitor." She says more calmly.

"The Queen would kill you, wouldn't she?"

"Doubtful, I'm much more valuable as a hostage."

"And you need to get all the way to Maidenpool?" Maidenpool? Oh, right.

"No, that was a lie. I'm going home to Winterfell."

"Winterfell? But that's almost as far as The Wall? If anyone else finds out… If it had been anyone else last night…"

"I know." She's embarrassed at her mistake.

"Shit!" Then he looks over at her. "Pardon."

"I'm no different than yesterday, Gendry. You've been cursin' and pissin' in front of me the whole time, you'd better not stop now. Nothing can be different, understand." He nods that he does, but she's not sure he'll be able to keep to it.

"So what else was a lie? Your brother?"

"No, that was true. My brother Jon is at The Wall. I'd give anything to see him now, but, well… I have to make it home to Winterfell first."

"But why would a li'l lord join The Watch? I sure wouldn't take the black if I had anythin' better. I mean everyone knows The Watch is a joke, a punishment for shitheads. Oh, er, criminals."

"The Night's Watch is an honorable tradition that has been around for generations. The Watch mans The Wall and keeps the realm of men safe. Up North we believe taking the black is a worthy sacrifice." He looks at the thieves and rapers walking the road in front of them and still seems doubtful. She elaborates. "Also, when my father and I left for King's Landing, there wasn't really a place for him there anymore."

"Why not?"

"My mother was, well she was a right bitch to him." That felt rather good to say. "She blamed him for something that's not his fault, treated him like shit all his life." At his curious look she keeps going, glad to express all her frustration on the subject finally. "He's a bastard, like you. My father went to war and came back with a babe. It's him she was mad at, but she took it out on Jon. He never did anything, tried harder than anyone. He gave me this blade, these are his clothes I borrowed; he's my favorite brother." She smiles sadly, and he smiles back at her, something unreadable in his eyes.

"Your favorite brother, eh? How many've you got?"

"Four?" His eyes widen at that. She laughs a little at his surprise.

"Aye. There's Robb, he's oldest. He's Lord of Winterfell now, but he'll be fine. Father's been training him all his life, or he was. Then Jon. Then me." He interrupts.

"How old are you?"

"Ummm." She has to think. She was fourteen when she left, but. "What month is it?"

"Dunno, late autumn to be sure." She nods.

"By the second snow, I'll be fifteen. You?"

"I turned nineteen a few weeks before I left." She nods in acceptance, then continues on.

"Bran. He's like a monkey, always climbing. Always used to get so frustrated whenever I beat him at anything. I can't help it that I'm a much better archer. What was I supposed to do, let him win?" She asks rhetorically.

"O' course, not." He smiles.

"And baby, Rickon. He's only six. He won't understand what happened to Father."

"I met your father." He says suddenly, seriously. She'd known that once, but she'd forgotten. And she didn't know all the specifics.

"What… what did you talk about?" He scratches his head, collecting his thoughts.

"He asked me about my mum, what she was like. Same as The Hand before him. Wanted to know if I was alright."

"Anything else?" She prompts, desperate for any information on her father.

"He liked my helm."

"Did he?" She asks with a smile.

"Aye. He wanted to buy it, but I wouldn't sell it. I swear, I thought my master would skin me alive. But Lord Stark, he said it was fine. I think he respected me for it. He told Master Mott that if I ever wanted to swing a sword rather than forge 'em, to let him know." He finishes. She's silent for a time.

"Ari…"

"He liked you."

"I dunno. I guess so."

"Of course he did." He seems pleased by that.

"I liked him too." Of course he did. What had her father wanted with him, why go to all this trouble for him? In the end, intentional or not, her father had died for him. She'd have to ask him the next time they met. "Weird though. I don't know why he'd bother with the likes o' me."

And now she was torn. She'd told him most of her secrets, and he'd taken it all well. But he'd already slipped up a few times, and she could imagine keeping his own secret might be harder. She decided to test the waters.

"What about your father?"

"I'm a bastard Arya, a, Ari. You know that." He's still embarrassed about it.

"Yeah, but, do you know anything about him, or…?"

"I don't know, don't care." Okay.

"But, if you could find out, would you want to know?"

"The bastard left me and my mum. She got sick and died and he did nothing for her, for me. He can drink himself to death in some tavern for all I care. It's prolly where he is right now." He looks angry, jaw clenching. Well, that little revelation can wait.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"S'alright." And just like that, he's back to good-natured Gendry. The funny part is, he's not far off. He'd drunk himself to death, to be sure. But Arya was pretty sure he'd never known about Gendry's existence. She'd leave it for now.

When Yoren finally calls for them to make camp she can't believe it, she hadn't even felt the time go by. Talking about her family, talking openly with Gendry, her good night's sleep, the fresher smell coming off her person; it was a good day.

Sitting down, enjoying their meal of rabbit stew and biscuit, Arya feels herself finally relax.

As the sky darkens, they hear horses approach. The horses' gaits are heavy, and there is the distinctive clink of armor. Soldiers, goldcloaks, The Queen. She freezes, unable to move. Gendry looks from them to her, eyes wide, and jumps to action where she couldn't. He pulls her up and settles her into a ravine; he uses his large frame to block her head from view.

"Stay down." He whispers. When the soldiers get closer, he instinctively tries to turn towards them, but she grabs his arm to stop him. Between her teeth she hisses.

"Don't turn around, don't let them see your face." His eyebrows scrunch in confusion, but he does as she asks.

"You in command here?" The soldier asks, and she knows the voice immediately. It's that of Ser Meryn, the one who'd beat her on Joffrey's command.

Yoren walks up to him calmly. "Aye, but you could try asking with manners next time." Ser Meryn ignores him and she hears paper crinkling.

"I've a warrant for one of these gutter rats you're transporting." He says. Gendry looks at her, clearly frightened on her behalf. Truth be told, so is she.

"The thing is." Yoren responds. "Once they join the Night's Watch, they're beyond the reach of Kings and Queens." She couldn't be more proud of Yoren than in that moment. She hears steel being drawn. "It's a funny thing, people worry so much about their throots that they forget about what's doon low. Now I sharpened this blade before breikfast, I could shave a spider's arse if I wanted to. Or, I could knick this artery in your leg; now once it's nicked, no one 'round here knows how to unknick it. We'll just keep that." And she hears a sword being unsheathed. "Good steel's always needed on The Wall. Now it's your choice, you can die here at this crossroads, or you can go back home and tell the Queen ya didn't find what you were lookin' for."

There's a long pause, the goldcloak weighing his options, before he says, "We're looking for a boy named Gendry, he carries a bull's head helmet." Gendry stops breathing, but doesn't take his eyes off her. "Whoever turns him over, will earn the King's reward." The horses neigh as they're reared on. "We'll be back, with more men, and we'll be taking your head along with that bastard boy."

The soldiers ride off, leaving an uncomfortable silence in their wake. Arya can sense the others staring at Gendry with new interest, and she wonders how many will run to Joffrey and collect a reward. She catches Yoren's eye, who motions with his head for her to follow him, she nods in understanding. She looks back to Gendry to find he hasn't taken his eyes off her. She expects fear or confusion, but instead finds anger and hurt. Great, just great.

A/N: Okay, so that was a mega chapter. So much fun though, expect a new one soon. Questions, comments, likes, dislikes, suggestions, theories, please review.


	14. On the Road 3

A/N: Dark stuff, be warned.

On the Road 3

Arya

"Well what you lot waiting for? Clean up, go about yer business." Yoren instructs. Arya waits for everyone to get distracted before making to follow Yoren, except Gendry stops her.

"Ari…" He starts. And she imagines he must be going crazy, being left in the dark. She remembers following her father around, snooping through his things, just wanting to be let in on the secret. And this is even about him.

"Come on." She invites. He follows, but he's nervous, she can tell.

Yoren is quite far out, not wanting to take the chance of being overheard. He turns at the sound of their footsteps, and looks unsurprised that Gendry is there too.

"They'll be back, ya know. Make no mistake."

"I know. Yoren, I'm so sorry. I never meant for this to happen, to get you in trouble. I…"

"You're trouble enough. But when your father asked me to take him, I didn't expect any o' this. Whatta they want with him?" He asks motioning to Gendry. Gendry looks at her expectantly. She opens her mouth to respond. "Never mind, I don't want to know. The less I know the better." She nods, thinking that wise.

"What, exactly, did my father say?"

"Just to take him, keep him from taking the black." Well, that's news to her. Gendry straightens up as well.

"Does The Watch do that?" Gendry asks.

"No, we don't. We're meant to stay outta the affairs o' The Realm. I've broken that now, twice."

"Thank you, Yoren. I promise, once we reach Winterfell, I'll repay The Watch with whatever we have to spare, I swear it."

"It's war now, _Boy, _you'll have nothin' to spare. And I can't take you to Winterfell, too far, too dangerous."

"I understand; I don't want to endanger you or the others." She says calmly, although inside she's more than afraid of the idea of making it on her own.

"I'm goin' with her." Gendry declares. She's not sure if he's worried for himself or if he's going for her, but she thanks The Gods just in case.

"Of course you are. When we reach the next town, you'll sneak off into the night. You were never here, we don't know you, got that?" They both nod vigorously. "Good luck, then. We won't have another chance to say goodbye. Take care a yourself, Milady." He says with a kind smile. She hugs him tight, missing him already. Yoren walks back out to the others, and they just stay, silent.

"What aren't you tellin' me?" He gets down to it.

"Lots of things. Too many things." She's suddenly so exhausted.

"Why would your father ask The Watch to take me? Why did he give a shit about me?" Well, that was simpler, he'd narrowed it down for her.

"Why do you think?" She'd rather he figure it out on his own, it would be too crazy otherwise.

"No, no. Don't fuck around with me. You knew your father came to see me, didn't you?"

"I wasn't sure. I thought, perhaps, probably. But no, I wasn't sure. And I didn't know what he said to you." He calms a bit at that, but doesn't let up.

"Why would he though?"

"Gendry, I… I don't know how to do this. I tried to talk to you about it earlier, but you didn't want to hear it. Maybe we should wait a bit for you to calm down…"

"What? When did you try to talk to me about this?"

"You made it sound like you've never even wondered about your father."

"My father. What does that have to do with anything?" He's exasperated now.

"Come on, Gendry. Hasn't anyone ever stared for too long? Remarked on similarities? Why would my father, The Hand, and The Hand before him come to see you? Why would The Kingsguard come all this way to look for you? You must have known, or suspected."

"I'm nobody. I've always been nobody." She gently places her palm on his cheek.

"You're important, Gendry. I'm not sure exactly how, but you're not nobody. My father never meant for you to take the black, he must have had something planned. Of course he never told me anything. I had to go snooping around to figure it out, and even I'm still missing some of the pieces."

"Tell me." And his request is so clear and plain, she does just that.

"Your father was King Robert Baratheon." Whatever reaction she expected, she did not get. He starts laughing hysterically.

"Fuck off." He says, still laughing.

"It's true. That's what my father and Jon Arryn wanted with you. They were checking in on the son of their oldest friend. Lord Arryn most likely paid your apprenticeship fee." He stops laughing at that. "You look like him Gendry. Well, sort of. Black hair, blue eyes, and you're big and strong…"

"So what? Lots of people have black hair and blue eyes. That don't mean…"

"No. Lots of people _had _black hair and blue eyes. Joffrey had them all killed. That's what the Goldcloaks want. Joffrey's having all his father's bastards killed. And, he had quite a lot of them."

"That's not…" But he doesn't finish what he's going to say.

"I heard about it before I left. All over King's Landing, bastards were being murdered. Even the babies." She says, thinking of Ros mourning the little girl.

"Babies?"

"Well, I didn't know of most of them. Only two for sure. But there was a small child in a brothel. Her name was Barra, your sister, I guess. He had her killed, right in front of her mother." She says disgusted.

"But why?"

"Who knows? Joffrey has no morality, no conscience. Killing a small child would be nothing to him." And she says it with such venom that he is at a loss for what else to say.

"This is impossible, Arya. You know that right?"

"Do you believe I'm Arya Stark?" She asks.

"Yes."

"Do you believe I'm lying?"

"I believe you, but…." He looks down at that.

"I know it to be true. I went to the Street of Steel, looking for… well, I didn't know what. I saw you, and I knew right off." This gets his attention again.

"This is crazy." He shakes his head. He's silent for a long time, thinking, putting pieces together. "Well, what do we do next?" And now she's in a state of shock. He's accepted it, or more likely pushed it aside, but he was calm.

"I don't know, I have no plans, I didn't even know you would be here, I swear. I was sure the Goldcloaks were after me, not you. I don't know, I really don't."

"We'll figure it out at the next town, like Yoren said." Ivy Inn, she thought, half way to Harrenhall. "You decide where we go, and we'll go." She wraps her arms around him and hugs him tight.

"Whatever happens, I'm glad you're with me, Gendry." She tells him honestly, a confession she might not have been able to make if she weren't pressed up against him.

He wraps his arms around her too. "I'm with you." He promises.

They try the same trick again, one heading back before the other. She uses the time to finally read the document her father had thought would protect him. He'd written down what The King wrote word for word, careful with his penmanship, and helped his friend to seal it officially with his ring, the wax hot and pliable. She'd been keeping it intact, for what she wasn't sure. She'd wanted to show someone important, her mother, the next king, whoever she could, to clear her father's name. But now, with the Goldcloaks, it was too dangerous. She had a clear picture in her mind of The Queen ripping up the other copy like it was nothing. Only paper, she'd said haughtily.

She scans through it, most of it she remembered. She wanted to memorize it, to be able to recite it upon request. It was as she remembered, until the end. Her father was indeed named Protector of the Realm, but only until an _heir _could be named. In her memory, which could be wrong, The King had specifically said Joffrey's name. Did her father not want Joffrey to rule? Who did he have in mind in his stead? What other secrets did he hold? Dam nit!

She certainly agreed with her father, Joffrey should in no way sit on the throne. But he couldn't have meant Gendry, could he? Gendry wasn't raised to rule, had no aptitude for it, and would most likely hate it. Then again, anyone would be better than Joffrey. And he'd saved Gendry at the cost of his own life, even going so far as to request he never take his vows on The Wall. What did it all mean? She walked back with more questions than answers, the paper in shreds in her gullet. The unharmed seal she left on the ground.

Everyone was staring at Gendry, burning holes into him with their eyes, and she could tell he was deeply uncomfortable. Of all the possibilities, she never imagined it was Gendry who would have to be careful amongst the rough recruits. She could probably take off her binding and no one would even notice. Her face was almost healed, only mottled yellow.

Hot Pie and Lommy had many questions, but Gendry didn't respond to them. Based on his reluctance, they assumed the absolute least plausible scenarios. They decided he was an infamous murderer or a Dornish spy or a hired sword. He and Arya didn't bother to correct them. In fact, Gendry was particularly quiet, and she was worried about him. She couldn't imagine how much his world had changed in the space of a day. Finding out she was something more must have been a shock, then to know powerful people wanted him dead, and that deadbeat father he'd been hating all his life, was actually a king… There was no possible way he was dealing. That is if he actually believed her, which she suspected he still didn't. Maybe she should have said something sooner, but no matter when or how; it still would have sounded crazy and hurt. And as selfish as it sounded, she was glad for the time they'd had as just Gendry and Ari, no pretentions, and the way it forced them on the same side; they were indeed a team. He'd offered to go with her, even before he knew the whole truth.

That night she laid down first, though much too pensive to sleep. Later Gendry laid down beside her, obviously thinking furiously, she could almost hear it. Sneakily, she squirmed backwards until she was touching him, until she felt his warmth through her tunic; she'd done it gradually, but he must have noticed. She wasn't sure why, or what she expected, but it had felt right. She sighs softly in contentment as he puts his arm over her, after much deliberation, and she lets him pull her in close. She feels him fall asleep and follows soon after, uncaring of prying eyes.

In her dreams, her father walks over to her sleeping form, Gendry is there with them, but asleep and unresponsive. She frees herself, and stands to address her father. Is Gendry actually with them, or is it just a symbol?

"You never meant for him to take the black?" She asks him immediately.

"Hello to you too, love. It pleases me greatly to see you well." He jokingly scolds. She laughs and grabs him for a hug.

"Are you really here?" She asks, smelling his unique scent.

"I can't answer that." She sighs deeply.

"Well, what can you tell me? Anything, anything at all?"

"I should have told you more, before. If I had trusted you, maybe things would have turned out differently."

"Maybe." She agrees.

"Fight, sweetheart. That is all I can tell you. Fight."

"I am, I will. But, what…"

"Fight." He says again before disappearing.

She awakes to shouts and clashing steel. Gendry wakes up at the same time, and instantly they're on their feet. The fighting is in full swing, and as her gaze locks on Yoren, she watches arrow after arrow pierce his chest, and it's only Gendry's arms, which stop her from rushing toward him. Apparently when the soldiers promised they would return, they'd meant immediately.

Many of the recruits, men they'd walked beside for weeks, were fighting for their lives. A few had already fallen. She mourned them, even the worst of them.

Gendry led her to some thick bushes and made her promise to stay put.

"Arya, stay here, promise." She nods in agreement, though means to do no such thing. He gets up abruptly.

She pulls on his hand, trying to drag him down beside her.

"I can't Arya. I can't let anyone die for me." He says with conviction.

"You'll die. And I need you." She reasons. He looks at her sadly for only an instant before kissing her lightly on her temple. It's not long, and it's over before she realizes what's happening, and then he's running out to fight. She's furious at him. How dare he risk himself? Did he understand nothing about their current predicament?

She watches the fighting from relative safety behind her makeshift cover. It's killing her to sit still as she watches more fall, valiantly fighting for their lives, and Gendry, and her. It's not right. She sees Gendry, with no weapon, only his size and muscle, take one out from behind, grabbing the man's weapon, and using it. Apparently forging swords had given him at least a basic understanding of wielding them. She watched on as he fought another, clumsily killing him, blood spurting out messily. He was doing well. But there's so much going on, she loses sight of him.

She turns her attention back to the others, and sees Hot Pie dodging blows, surprisingly spry given his weight. She moves from the bushes in case she's needed. Fire catches her attention out of the corner of her eye. The wooden cage is aflame, Jaquen and the other trapped inside.

"Boy." Jaquen shouts. "Lovely boy, help us." He pleads. She's not sure why, but when she sees an axe wedged in a stump she pulls it free and hands it to the Lorathi, who looks at her before handing the weapon off to his companion. Rorge, she believes his name his, starts hacking furiously at the bars.

"No, please." She hears, and turns around to see Hot Pie falling to the ground. She can stand still no longer, she rushes to his aid. No one messes with her pack, not even the fat and weak ones. The soldier has Hot Pie cornered, hovering over him, prolonging the kill out of amusement. She hops on his back and slits his throat, the blood gushing out onto her hands.

The shock of killing freezes her in place, and she meets Hot Pie's scared and shocked eyes. It snaps her out of the stupor; she wipes her bloody hands on the soldier's shirt, and gets up, only to be knocked in the stomach violently. She lays on the ground, trying desperately to catch her breath. She sucks in hard, but can't force any air into her lungs. The panic of not being able to breathe is excruciating. She feels hands take her precious blade, but can do nothing. She's weak, defeated, perhaps about to die.

"Up." The soldier says, voice gruff and demanding. She wants to, but she can't. Hot Pie reaches down and helps her. Still there's no air. He slaps her on the back, and suddenly she breaths again. Delicious air. Her and Hot Pie are shepherded forward, amongst the others. She searches frantically for Gendry and Lommy, but sees neither, she feels herself start to panic once more.

Eventually her eyes catch blue, and the relief is so sudden she nearly falls over, Gendry's there, a little battered, but alive. He smiles upon seeing her as well. But their relief is short-lived.

"We're looking for Gendry. Send him forward, or we'll start taking eyeballs." She doesn't doubt their threats. And as she looks around, she wonders who will be the first to break. She can see the wheels turning in each of their minds, is it more honorable to stay quiet or speak up? Even if no one gives him up, all eyes are on the large smith, and it's only a matter of time. Only Hot Pie's gaze is fixed on her, eyes taking in her panic for her friend.

"You want Gendry?" He starts. No! No, no no. He can't. Gendry for his part looks betrayed. "You already got 'im. He loved that helm." And he points to Lommy's dead body not far off, bull's helm clutched in his stiff dead fingers. The soldier looks satisfied and urges them all forward with threats and sword points in their backs.

She looks over at Hot Pie, truly surprised, and gives him a look of deep respect, mouthing thank you. He'd proved honorable, brave, and resourceful. She would not forget his actions that day. Gendry and her find each other and walk so their sides touch, taking small comfort in each other's presence.

If she thought walking the King's Road with The Watch was grueling, she was dead wrong. This was so much worse. And the jewel and ring sliding around in her boot did not help in the slightest. The pace was impossible, they were chained, watched, taunted, and were not given water. To make matters worse, many were injured, including Gendry, who had a nasty bump on his head, and badly bruised hands. Hot Pie seemed fine, and while her chest ached with each breath, she could manage. In terms of herself, she was more worried about relieving herself, and how she could sneak off without arousing suspicion. But Gendry's presence was comforting, and she had to be thankful for small favors. Lommy was gone, his death proving fortuitous, no matter how cold that sounded, and she missed him. Hot Pie was even closer to The Dyer, and she could only imagine his pain. He kept up though and never complained; she saw him in a whole new light.

When they did eventually stop, late into the night, she told one of the soldiers that she had to shit. He let her go off with one guard, which Gendry was not happy about, and they went behind some bushes. The guard did not pay attention to her, thinking her little and therefore no threat. She dropped trow out of sight, and relieved herself. To her horror, and morbid amusement she found she had started her period. She had to bite her lip from laughing out loud at her bad fortune. Ripping the end of her tunic, she used it as a makeshift internal sponge, but dreaded the next obstacle.

Many were asleep, having had their ration of water. Gendry and Hot Pie were waiting, and she took her portion before joining them. When no one was listening she felt free to speak. But in truth, she was at a loss as to what to say to Gendry. She turned to Hot Pie instead.

"That was very brave. I owe you, Hot Pie, truly."

"You saved my life. It was nothing."

"It wasn't nothing. And I won't forget it." She says in all seriousness, which only serves to make him uncomfortable.

"Thank you." Gendry says, and Hot Pie nods in response.

"I told you to stay hidden." Gendry scolds her.

"Shut the fuck up." She says simply, and a corner of his lip quirks up at that. They all fall asleep huddled together, stomachs growling.

After another insanely long march, they make it to their destination. She had long since bled through her pants, and the disgusting feel of it, combined with her helplessness and fear, brought her the closest to tears she'd been since she'd started the journey. She has a story ready for if the soldiers notice, but no one does. The hunger and the cramps mix together to turn her stomach into a mound of dough being perpetually kneaded. She does her best to ignore it. They arrive. She is both awed and scared shitless upon their arrival. Harrenhal, all burnt black stone, melted and twisted.

"Where are we?" Hot Pie asks.

"Harrenhall." She answers.

"What happened here?" Gendry asks.

"Dragons." She responds.

"There's no such thing as dragons." He doubts her.

"But there were. What else could melt stone?" She reasons. This place housed evil, true horrors, she could smell the death, and she had no way to prepare for it. Her weapon was gone, part of her pack dead, and the rest chained.

They're brought to a pen, an actual pen for livestock, and fenced in amongst other clearly terrified and battered souls. She can see the dead look in their eyes, most likely reflected in her own. There's no privacy, no blankets, no food, only mud. The soldiers disappear and she goes off to a fetid corner to relieve herself and change her bled-through cloth. She doesn't want to speak too soon, but this seems the new lowest point of her existence, which was saying quite a bit given her time with Joffrey. Afterwards, she checks Gendry's injuries, prodding gently at his skull, and decides it's nothing serious; he has quite a hard head.

Someone begs for food and receives a kick to the face. Later, a woman, middle aged, is dragged from the pen by two men; they can all hear her cries. Tears do fall from her eyes then, for how useless she is. If only she could stop this. It reminded her of her time with Joffrey, which wasn't fair, as what this woman was suffering was far worse. After all, she'd gone willingly to her fate; she'd suggested it. This woman was dragged kicking and screaming out, she could hear her fighting, strength, where she'd had none. Gendry wraps his arms around her, she flinches at first, but then lets herself melt into him, trying hard to block out the sounds, trying hard not to remember her own screams. The woman is brought back in when they're done with her, and she's deadly quiet. But Arya can see a twitch in her eye as she stares at nothing, rolling herself into a ball. No matter what tomorrow brings, she is scarred beyond repair. Arya thinks about all the soothing things she could say, perhaps holding her tight, promising vengeance. But she can promise nothing, and she knows from experience the woman won't want to be touched.

It's the next morning when things get even worse. She finds herself constantly surprised, she believes things to be the most miserable that they can be, and then a new angle tips the scale. The people here, they torture them for information, information they don't have. No one survives, and the means of their death is excruciating. It's only a matter of time before its her, or someone she loves.

The Mountain picks one villager, then they're placed in a chair, a rat in a bucket tied to their chest. The Tickler asks them questions- Where's the gold hidden? Where's the Brotherhood? And so on and so forth. No one knows, or at least they all claim not to. She certainly has no clue what they're talking about. Without fail, the person is eaten alive; fire forcing the rat to chew its way to freedom; both the vermin and the prisoner dead. How long until it's her? Her father doesn't visit her in this place, though that might have more to do with her inability to sleep. Instead of dreams, she recites a list. The names of those she will make suffer.

The night her period finishes is the night they choose a young girl, too young. Arya sits still, fingers clenched, sick with herself. She can imagine it's her, innocent and naïve. She doesn't believe the girl has yet become a woman, but she will have to suffer the indignity all the same. The question becomes very simple, and her hand unclenches- Can she live with herself if she does nothing? The answer is a resounding _**No**_.

"Hot Pie." She addresses him, and he gives her his full attention. "Never call him by his name. And protect this with your life." She gives him the ring and shakily gets to her feet. Gendry notices too late and tries to pull her back down, but she's already stepping forward, entire body shaking.

"Leave her be." She says, Gendry grabbing at her ankles to pull her back. "Take me instead." She orders, but her voice cracks on me. They laugh in her face. What exactly they find funny escapes her.

"We don't want boys, we ain't that desperate, we ain't faggots. When we finish with all the girls, then we'll see." She's not deterred.

"I am a girl." She proclaims, not as loud as she'd meant. They stop laughing, but the grins haven't left their faces. One with light brown hair, black eyes, no chin, and rather stocky shoulders grabs her roughly, and Gendry rushes him. She tries to tell him with her eyes to sit quietly, but he doesn't look at her. The other, whitish blonde hair and the lightest shade of brown eyes she's ever seen hits Gendry with the hilt of his sword, hitting the exact same spot where his bump was. She flinches, but the brunette one is holding her so tight she can barely move. He slides his hand beneath her shirt and feels the tightly wound bandages over her breasts.

"We've got a ripe one, boys!" He exclaims, excited. It's he and the white-haired one that take her away, she can hear struggles in the pen, but can only focus on her current predicament. A far away part of her is glad she's being taken away from the others, that her indignity will be private.

Her mind immediately starts analyzing- no help, no weapons, 2:1 odds, and possible death. She will fight through the fear until her last breath, no more being a willing victim. She struggles, making it hard for them to keep her still. They get her stripped, cutting off her binding with her little blade, barely avoiding cutting into her flesh. The one with no chin rips her pants open and gets atop her. She nearly heaves at the feel of his hands on her, vision swimming. She squirms until she has more movement and then kicks her knee up as hard as she can onto his swollen member. He curses loudly and she takes the time to turn over, crawling out from under him. The light blonde grabs her, and her fingers fruitlessly search for purchase in the dirt. She can feel his hands prying her legs apart, ragged nails digging into her flesh, but her fingers never stop their searching. Eventually, she feels a large rock beneath her fingertips, clutches it, and with a force she didn't know she possessed, she smashes it into the side of his head.

He lets go immediately at this, but she doesn't stop. She winds up, and brings it down again. She keeps hitting him, keeps going until his head is mush, until she feels the bloody pulp grind into the dirt; red and pink and gray spreading on the ground, a pool of blood forming.

But the first one, the chinless black-eyed soldier grabs her; having recovered form the severe kick to his balls. She screams a battle cry and swings wildly with the rock. He easily incapacitates her arm, but she keeps thrashing for freedom, wild with adrenaline, and whenever any part of him gets close to her face, she bites viciously at the air. She catches his lip, bites hard enough to draw blood, and at his yell of frustration, she rears back and head butts him with all her might. The impact leaves her dizzy, but he is completely disoriented. Naked she gets up shakily, and crawls back to the soldier she'd killed. She reaches for his sword, brandishing it more steadily than she knew possible.

At this she runs back towards the pen, not at all sure it will offer safety, but instinct leads her back to her pack. The man, limping painfully, stands in her path. She points the sword at him, a few of his brothers in arms stand by his side, lowering her odds considerably, now 3:1. But she doesn't back down, doesn't loosen her hold of the sword, standing naked and tall.

"Put that down and crawl back to your corner." A tall skinny blonde soldier says, motioning her back in. She looks over at him quizzically and notices his armor and insignia are more intricate, cost more. He's higher ranking than the others. He reaches out tentatively to grab the blade, and the other opens the gate. She steps in and loosens her grip on the hilt; the superior officer easily takes the blade from her as the other closes the gate behind her. The soldier she'd personally injured looks as though he wants to tear her apart with his bare hands, but the higher up holds him back. "Tywin will want to deal with her personally." He says, and while the stocky brunette looks at her with pure hate, he follows orders.

She walks past the other sheep; terrified prisoners all, staring at her in wonder, never having seen someone fight back and return unscathed. Gendry immediately places his shirt atop her shoulders and helps her to pull it down, covering all, barely. The little girl with lovely auburn hair, looking even younger than she'd thought, clings onto her sobbing. She strokes her hair and comforts her telling her it will be alright. Gendry asks her if she's hurt, not looking her in the eye. She knows what he's really asking.

"They didn't get to do much. They touched me, but I made them regret it." She answers proudly.

Hot Pie is looking at her in amazement, obviously having no idea she was a girl. He simply says.

"That was the bravest thing I've ever seen." The girl is still crying, but Arya can no longer stand her tears, afraid she'll dissolve too. She disengages the girl and passes her to Hot Pie. Gendry looks an even bigger mess than before, covered in bruises.

"Don't you ever, ever do anything that stupid again. Imagine if they… You don't know what could've happened to you, but you…" He's utterly terrified, she can see; still traumatized from his beating and watching her get dragged away, hearing her screams, watching her get returned naked.

"I knew what I was doing. Better than you." She answers simply, coldly.

"Fine, _I_ don't know what I would have done if…" He doesn't finish, swallowing painfully.

She doesn't know how to feel or what more to say. She had been terrified too, and the remembrance of it made her skin crawl. But she'd fought this time, choosing a possible death over weakness. And she knew she'd do it again, knew what she was capable of. And when she'd had the sword in her hands, it had all come back to her, playing pretend with her brothers, knocking sticks, pretending to be knights. That was before her mother put a stop to it. Imagine if she'd learned properly. But she'd done her brothers proud all the same, and her father too, she hopes.

Still, she's made an enemy tonight, and she hadn't missed the mention of one 'Tywin' who she could only speculate to be the one and only Lannister patriarch. But just the same she scoots back against Gendry, and lets him hold her tight, tighter than he ever had before. She feels furious eyes watching her, and doesn't need to look up to know it's the soldier she'd beaten, the one she'd humiliated. She couldn't guess if she would sleep that night or not; or if she did, what her father would have to say.

A/N: No one better mess with her or her pack… Review please.


	15. Harrenhall

Harrenhall

Arya

No, her father wouldn't show his face in this hell. Instead she found a dreamless half sleep, one which she could only bring about by thinking of revenge. Instead of picturing the faces of those she loved, it was those she hated. Joffrey, Cersei, Ilyn Payne, Ser Meryn, The Tickler, Polliver, The Mountain, Raff the Sweetling… She'd already killed one, she could kill the rest. She would, with her own two hands.

Though she found some comfort in being held by Gendry at night, the days were filled with screams, pleading to be spared, and sobbing relatives. She asked Hot Pie for the ring back, but he looked embarrassed when he told her he'd swallowed it to keep it safe. She laughed then and hugged him tight, he didn't return it, clearly too surprised to react. When no one was looking, she buried the ruby deep into the dirt beside a the fence. It was safer there. They kept away from her, the blonde in charge of the prisoners had ordered her to be saved for Tywin, and Gendry never went farther than a few inches from her in hopes of deterring them further. And if they tried again, she would fight again.

But they didn't take her or the little girl who was named Dayra, who Arya found out was eleven, but just barely. No, the one thing that could possibly make it all worse happened instead.

At the choosing, The Mountain pointed just above her head. It was in slow motion that she realized to whom he was pointing- Gendry. They dragged him off, and she screamed, grabbing at the monstrous creature. Gendry looked back at her, and shook his head no, that she should do nothing, then to Hot Pie. The fat boy tried to hold her back, but she slipped out from him easily. But then something strange happened, the others in the pen formed a tight circle around her, keeping her from fighting, keeping her from getting herself killed. She looked each in the eye in turn; there was some pity there, but there was resolve as well. They meant to keep her alive, they felt she should live. She wanted them to mind their own damn business.

"Is there gold or silver in the village?" They ask him, and she thinks about the single ruby hidden in the dirt, contemplates if it would be enough to save him. Knowing it will only doom them both.

"I'm not from the village." He says, breathing in panicked breaths. She can't see him, the villagers blocking her view, but she can hear it all.

"Where is the Brotherhood?"

"I don't know what that is." She hears the rats squeaking, straps being buckled.

She dropped to her knees and dug her fingers into the earth, too far from the trees. She prayed to The Gods. Please, please save him. Please save him. Please save him. Please.

A gate is raised and horses gallop through. The villagers disperse then, and she can see an imposing older man, thinning blonde hair, pure golden armor emblazoned with a lion. Tywin Lannister.

The torturers scramble to greet their lord. "Lord Tywin, we didn't expect you back so soon." One says.

"Clearly." He replies drily. His keen eyes take in the scene immediately, including Gendry. Arya can see he's still alive, if shaken, and she breathes. "What are you doing with these prisoners?"

"The cells are overflowing, Milord. But this lot won't be here long. After we're done interrogatin', we usually just…" The Tickler assures him.

"Are we so well-manned that we can afford to discard able young bodies and skilled laborers?" He turns his attention to Gendry then. "You there, do you have a trade?"

Gendry looks over at her for an instant before answering.

"Smith, Milord." She breathes a sigh of relief, finally. The Gods had listened.

"There you have it. Untie him and get him to work, that goes for the rest of them as well."

"Milord." It's the blonde soldier, the one who'd ordered her be untouched. "There's something else that might interest you." Tywin looks intrigued. "This one." And he's pointing at her. "She killed one of us with a rock."

"Oh, and how did she manage that?" Though he has clearly gleaned the answer from her state of undress.

"Well, she…" It's the black-eyed one who responds. Tywin laughs.

"Did you do that to her hair, too?" He asks. But he doesn't wait for a response. "Bring her to my chambers, I'll deal with her personally."

She takes one last look at Hot Pie, then Gendry's worried face, before she's dragged along to treat with Tywin Lannister. Had he recognized her? What did he want with her? The Gods give and take away.

He takes her up to his private rooms, and she's struck by how clean it is, and how finely decorated. There are tapestries, large books, silver, and fine wood. It hadn't really been so long since The Red Keep, but it felt a lifetime ago, the grandeur of the room was disconcerting.

He directs her to a basin of water in the corner and instructs her to wash her face and hands, and drink if she is thirsty. She does drink, and scrubs her hands and face, the back of her neck too, the water turning near black.

"What's your name, girl?" He asks before she'd finished washing.

"Nan." She says, before remembering. "Milord."

"And where are you from Nan?" He takes off his gauntlets.

"Maidenpool, Milord." He nods at that.

"And now, in your own words, tell me about the soldier, one of mine, that you killed." He sits comfortably, clearly attentive for a good story. She needs to be careful, he's clever enough to pick up on her speech patterns.

"They was takin' girls off to the side, one every night." He nods, signaling his understanding. "They was gonna take a li'l one, I volunteered to take her place."

"Why would they choose a young girl over you? You're flowered, are you not?" Why were these Lannisters so interested in her monthly flow? She nods. "Why then?"

"They di'nt know I was a girl, Milord." He smiles at that, taking her in properly.

"I see. Smart. Well, it would have been smarter to stay hidden, but, smart."

"Thank you, Milord." Pushing the words past her throat is difficult. He nods dismissively.

"Get cleaned up properly, find something to wear, something a girl would wear this time, eat something, and then report back."

"Milord…?"

"I'll need a new cupbearer. Now go one, you're wasting time." She runs off to fulfill his requests.

What had just happened? A cupbearer to a Lannister? It seemed he hadn't recognized her, and she was reasonably sure he wouldn't, the bruise was almost gone already.

Shelby, one of the serving girls showed her to a cold bath and cropped her hair until it was even. Tywin had told her to choose clothes that showed she was a girl, but he hadn't specified a dress. She chose pants and a tunic once more, but they actually fit her frame, and she no longer had to wear the breast binding, which she was glad for. Shelby made her wear a belt around her waist to accentuate her figure.

She went to the kitchens next where they gave her a pasty filled with chicken, peas, and gravy. She ate it so fast, she was nearly sick. Then it was back to Tywin for inspection, a more complete meal for His Lordship. He laughed at her chosen ensemble but deemed her acceptable. He had a long list of chores he needed her to finish in the morning, and expected them done efficiently. She was to sleep in his chambers from now on, on soft cushions in the corner; the fire close enough to keep her warm. He told her it was merely to keep her close should he need anything in the middle of the night. She slept with one eye open, but he didn't touch her, and she figured he must be telling the truth.

Getting Lord Tywin's breakfast the next day she found Hot Pie, who had been given a job in the kitchens. The fat boy cried when he saw her and initiated the hug this time. He said he was fine; that the head cook was impressed with his baking and treated him well. He said Gendry was in the forge, but distraught because he was worried sick about her; having heard where she was sleeping.

She'd known Gendry was fine, Tywin had ordered him put to work, but of course Gendry would assume the worst. She longed to see The Smith, but Tywin was keeping her incredibly busy, not a moment to herself so far, and she knew it would be impossible. She asked Hot Pie to take him a message, but she had so much to say and the boy couldn't remember it all. Finally she settled on- 'I'm well, don't worry. I hope they're feeding you. I'll come see you when I can.' Before she left she inquired as to Hot Pie's bowel movements, to which he said there was nothing yet, but he promised to keep a close eye out for the ring.

After a time, Tywin trusted her enough to pass along messages, fetch documents and books, sort records and numbers, attend him at council meetings, delegate instructions to lesser lords, and mostly keep him company. She was livid at having to serve a Lannister, but at the same time found herself quite enjoying the nature of the work. It would be a challenge for her mind, for once.

She listened attentively of course, and found out some truly vital information. One, and most importantly, her brother Robb had named himself King of the North. Her brother, a king. He was winning battles, and Tywin was nervous, though he didn't display it outwardly. She could tell though, as he'd always clench his fist whenever he read about news concerning Robb.

He wanted battle plans and strategies sent out by raven and tasked her with this. The first few times she did her job perfectly, following his instructions to the letter. But as the master of the ravens grew more comfortable with her, and more distracted with her flirting and unlaced tunics, she purposefully mixed up the messages, and even managed to send some duplicates to bannermen loyal to Robb. She thought about adding in something personal, just to let him know she was alive, but decided it couldn't be risked. All in all, she was quite pleased with her spying and entirely too confident in her abilities.

While returning from her latest errand, she heard a whisper. "Boy, lovely boy." She knew who it was in an instant. Jaquen, he had survived the fire. He was even more impressive now, clean and upright, dressed in Lannister colors, the gold offsetting the red.

"You're alive." She says stupidly. He smiles.

"Yes, thanks to a friend. Are we friends, Ari?"

"Nan." She corrects immediately.

"Is it? Whatever you say, this man will go along. Friends, yes?" Were they friends? She hesitates.

"I… I suppose." He smiles wider at this.

"And a friend owes another friend. You helped a man, showed him kindness, and saved his life. For these three, he will gift the girl three."

"Three what?"

"Three deaths, to be paid to The Red God."

"Dead? Who else is dead?"

"That is for you to say, lovely girl. Who would you have this man kill?" She found it difficult to understand his riddles; his habit of speaking in the third person was confusing. But she could almost decipher his meaning.

"You'll kill who I say?" She asks carefully.

"Just so."

"Anyone?" She clarifies.

"A man has said. Would you have it so?" He asks expectantly. She only nods, not really sure what she's doing. He grins again. "When a girl is ready, she will speak the names, and it will be done. Until then." And he bows to her, before disappearing. What just happened? More than anything she wanted to talk to Gendry, or her father, or even Hot Pie. But she never seemed to get the chance, there was always too much to consider. And she was late with some chore or other.

The next day, she brings Tywin his lunch, mutton in a garlic sauce and roasted potatoes with dill. Mmmm, dill… He tucks in, but gives her no further instructions. She just stands to the side awkwardly as he eats everything, knife and fork scraping the porcelain.

"Why are you hovering, girl?"

"Sorry, Milord. Whatta you want me ta do?" He looks impatient; she thinks he probably has to take a shit. For a moment she wonders if Lannisters really do shit gold.

"Nothing just now, go run along." She doesn't need to be told twice and dashes out, right to the forge.

She finds it easily enough, the sound of hammering her biggest clue. She walks in to find he's alone, his back to her, hard at work. She's content to just watch him for a while. And honestly, she feels shy towards him. After weeks together on the road with The Watch, days plastered to each other's sides, and then days more without even a glimpse of him, she doesn't really know how she should act around him. But she's a Stark, not a coward.

"Hi." She greets. But he can't hear her over the hammering. "Hey." She says louder. At this he puts down his hammer and turns to her. At the elated look on his face, she smiles widely and feels less confused. She runs into his arms, and being held by him again, it feels like home.

"You alright?" He asks into her hair.

"Fine. Didn't Hot Pie give you my message?"

"Yeah, but, who could believe him? How was I to know for sure? But you're fine?"

"Yes. Tywin has me running all about, this and that. But I think he likes me, I'm well-treated."

"Hot Pie had a message for you too." Really? "He said he finally shit. What the hell is he talking about?"

"Oh." And she chuckles a bit. "Never mind, don't worry about it."

"Ari…" He starts, but stops himself just in time. "Whatever you're doing, be careful, you never know…" She cuts him off.

"I know. And you? Are you alright?" She feels his stomach where the rat was, but there are no scratches or marks.

He swallows. "Fine. They're feeding me. Work's hard, but…"

"I have so much to tell you, but I don't know when I'll get the chance, I."

"Shh, Ari. Everybody's listenin', all the time."

"Nan." She tells him. At his confusion she explains. "I go by Nan now. I thought Ari was too close to…"

And she doesn't get to finish because he's kissing her. All the fear, all the loneliness, all the pain and ugliness get blasted away. His lips are as smooth as she'd thought, his hair is soft between her fingers, and before she knows it her palms are gliding down his neck and onto his shoulders, clasping at his back. His hands are around her waist, splaying on her lower back and stomach, bringing her closer until her chest is pressed up against his. She tastes sweet apple, from the tarts she'd had for breakfast.

"For fucksakes! Are you mental, boy?" The master of the forge interrupts them rudely, and they spring apart. "She's favored by Lord Tywin, you think he'll want your hands on her?"

"Ben…" Gendry starts.

"I won't say nothin'. You lose a hand and I'm short a worker. We got too much to get done. Get your head outta your ass, boy." Ben Blackthumb warns.

"Yes, Master." Gendry says and hangs his head.

"And you better head back." He tells her. She listens, she runs. She finds a secluded spot to hide, to think.

What's wrong with her, what's she doing? It was like her mind completely shut down and all thought of consequences just flew out the window. The smith was right, His Lordship would not approve, and very well could punish Gendry for touching what 'belonged' to him. They'd gotten off easily; she could just imagine what else could have happened. What's more, she did not need anyone looking too closely at Gendry, Tywin especially. He'd known Robert well, Gendry's lowborn status was all that kept the Lannister from getting a good look at his blue eyes. Fuck!

Not to mention the not so small matter of her betrothal. When she'd first been told, she was furious, promised to a stranger, she could only focus on how unfair it was, how trapped she felt. Then, in the capital, she'd been grateful; it kept Joffrey away from her and stopped The King from sniffing around. That hadn't worked, and she'd left King's Landing ruined. Getting home seemed the only thing, her wedding far down the line.

Would the deal still stand if they knew she no longer had her maidenhead? Could she keep the fact hidden? Maybe it could be a way out of it. But would that mean an end to the support of The Vale? Her brother would need those men against the Lannisters.

And she never expected to find Gendry, to feel… anything. None of this was fair to him, and he was still in the dark about so much. She knew she needed him, but in what way? What exactly did he want from her, for that matter? And he didn't know about her shame in the capital, what would he think of her if he knew?

By dark, she had to be back in Tywin's quarters, one of his rules. She makes it back in time to set out his things for the next day. As she lays down for the night, her mind blanks into blissful oblivion. Remembering the kiss, the way they'd both desperately clutched each other, she falls asleep with a smile on her face.

That night she saw her father; he was standing in the doorway and beckoned her to follow. She did eagerly, padding on bare feet.

"Daddy." She says, hugging him with all her strength. Everything since Yoren's death had been weighing on her, and she still hadn't gotten the chance to deal with it. First and foremost before the questions, she's just so thankful to see him again.

"You're alright, my girl. You'll be fine." He says as he releases her.

"Did you see what happened? I was just trying to…"

"I'm proud of you, love. Of everything you've done. I know you meant well." He tells her earnestly, grey eyes looking into her own. And she knows he's referring to the men she'd killed and Joffrey both.

"But what now? Who do I kill? Jaquen has said I can name anyone. Who should I choose?"

"In the North, we believe you must take a life with your own hands. What Jaquen offers is unnatural, you should turn him down."

"But there are too many names, too many who deserve death. I can cross them off my list, our list, Robb's enemies too."

"You'll do what you see as right, I suppose. It's kept you alive. You and the boy both." She looks down at that, embarrassed.

"About Gendry…" And he smiles once more.

"I'm not surprised." This is too weird, even for her. "You must take him and go. Find safety in family."

"But go where? With The Watch, we blended in. Alone, we'll never make it all the way to Winterfell."

"I never said, your family." He smooths out her hair, the fire crackles, and she's awake.

She has a few more answers than before; she just hopes she understood her father correctly.

Her first duty of the day is to check for new ravens from The South.

There are two letters, one must stay untouched, and she chooses the one from Stannis Baratheon. An omen, she thinks. She reads as she walks, but as the content sinks in, her feet stop moving. She's blocking the narrow corridor, but doesn't care. A few grumble and squeeze around her. One violently shoves her aside, causing her to lose her balance and fall forward to the ground, her hands coming up to protect her just in time. She looks up to see the ugly smirking face of the Tickler. She remembers the way he'd put a rat to Gendry's chest, to many chests, delighting in their screams and fear. She immediately seeks out Jaquen, decision made.

"Has a girl decided what she would ask of a friend?"

"I have a name. The Tickler." He smiles.

"It will be done."

She wanders off first this time, a new destination in mind, the kitchens. There she finds Hot Pie, who is delighted to see her and hands her a little lemon pie. When she makes no move to leave, a look of understanding comes across his face and he reaches into his pocket, hand shut tight, and places the object in her palm, all without letting anyone see what's inside. He promises he washed it thoroughly, but she still doesn't like touching it. She stuffs it down her shirt, thanks him, and delivers the undisturbed message, stone-faced, to Lord Tywin.

She had heard gossip amongst the other lords before that Joffrey Lannister was actually an illegitimate bastard; a product of incest. She was inclined to believe it. Stannis' proclamation not far-fetched at all. It would explain everything. Her father must have believed as well. Tywin, however, took the other letter and ripped it to shreds. Typical Lannister. The Lord is clearly distraught. She hadn't had the chance to read that one, perhaps she should have. She digs up her courage and asks.

"What does it say, Milord?"

"My son, he's been captured by the wolves." She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

"I'm sorry, Milord." She lies.

"My son, my heir. He's alive, but who knows for how long. Those fucking Northerners." She'd never heard Lord Tywin curse before and she was glad he was so out of sorts. He was losing, and now he was starting to know it.

"Yes, Milord." At that he looks at her more closely.

"What do you know of this?"

"Nothing, Milord. You jus' tol' me." Careful, Arya, reign it in.

"Still, You must have heard something around the hall. What are the small folk saying about the war?"

"I'm not sure what ya mean, Milord." She scrunches her face up in confusion, playing dumb.

"You're not stupid girl, so stop acting like it. Tell me the rumors you've heard." He demands.

"Well. There's some talk, 'bout your grandson, Milord." He looks disconcerted at this, making her think the 'talk' is absolutely true. He quickly changes the subject, unwilling to entertain the rumors.

"And this self-styled 'King in the North', what do they say of him?"

"They say he has ice in his veins and that he rides a giant direwolf into battle. They say he can't be killed."

"And do you believe them?" He is truly interested in her response.

"No Milord. Anyone can be killed." He looks at her strangely then, and she curses her damn pride and reckless nature. Luckily, an interruption saves her from any more scrutiny.

There's a knock. "My Lord." The tall blonde bannerman enters, his name is Brent she'd found out later, and he had Lannister blood.

"Yes yes, what is it?"

"The Tickler is dead." He says. Well well well, the day just keeps getting better.

"So? Why should I care?" He asks frustrated.

"It's just, he was murdered, My Lord." This Tywin does find interesting. He leaves to investigate, and she tags along.

His body is splattered on the cobblestones, making it obvious he had fallen from a great height. It might have seemed an accident, but his neck is twisted clean around, and its obvious not even such a fall could be the cause. A wicked grin spreads across her face. Tywin notices.

"You find this amusing?" He asks.

"I didn't like 'im, Milord." As always, lie with as much truth as possible. He humphs in dismissal, officially uninterested. And she had been in his chambers the entire time; he had no reason to suspect her. He orders a few men to clean up the mess and be done with it. After all, there is still much to prepare for the party that night.

It was to be a grand affair, or at least grand for Harrenhall. Why they would have a feast tonight of all nights was beyond her, they certainly had nothing to celebrate.

Arya on the other hand was positively joyous. Her brother was winning the war, Jamie Lannister was captured, The Tickler was dead by her hand, well indirectly, and she had two more names left. So when Shelby suggested she dress up for the occasion, she seriously considered it.

"Come on then, Nan. Wear a dress for once, it's not like everyone don't already know you're a girl."

"So what diff'rence does it make?" She reasons.

"Well, for one, Lord Tywin will expect it. Which also means, he'll protect ya from any unwanted hands." Hmmm. "And that smith a yours will be there too." What did she know about Gendry? Did the others know about their connection? She couldn't have anyone use it against him.

"Who?" She asks innocently.

"Come on, we all seen him. Handsome as anythin', ring any bells?" She chooses not to answer for a time.

"He's not mine." She finally answers. The whole social order of Westeros would have to be uprooted to make that happen. Could she make it happen?

"Really?" She says doubtfully. "Well, do you mind if I give it a go then?" Yes! Yes, she really did mind. But she wouldn't be selfish and deny Gendry the chance for a happier simpler life. She shakes her head no. Shelby was kind, a bit older, in her twenties maybe, and extremely curvy with long brown hair. The girl laughs at her.

"I can see plain as day you do mind. You're not much of a liar are you?" You don't know the half of it, she wants to say.

And then she pulls out one of her own dresses and waves it in Arya's face. "Here then, wear this." It's brown, unadorned and unembroidered. On Shelby it would be tight and low cut, on Arya it covers everything and sags a bit around the middle. Shelby insists on the belt once more. She brushes out her hair, which is now a little above her chin, and puts red on Arya's lips.

"Look how pretty you are now, Nan." She says to Arya's reflection. That's exactly what she was worried about.

The feast is not as joyous as it might have been; there is a somber mood. Everyone is talking about the ghost of Harrenhal, the unexplained death. Arya for her part drinks wine, which she is allowed as Tywin's cupbearer. And Shelby was right, no man bothers her, too afraid of reprisal. She does receive lingering looks however, which she doesn't mind so much. Gendry isn't there, and she feels both disappointed and relieved at the same time.

Begby, the master of the ravens raises his cup to her and she mimics the action with a small smile. She sees Dayra pouring drinks on the other side of the room, and when the girl catches sight of her, she gives Arya a brilliant smile. Arya returns it until she catches sight of Raff the Sweetling, the stocky soldier who'd tried to rape her during her time in the pen. He sneers at her, but doesn't move towards her, not wanting to anger Lord Tywin.

She sees the second he notices Dayra, pretty auburn hair loose and gleaming. He smiles wickedly at Arya before going over to hassle the poor girl. Arya moves to walk over, but there are too many people blocking her path. She looks around the room for help and sees Jaquen coming toward her direction and Gendry coming to the young girl's aid. Gendry is looking handsome in just a clean white shirt and simple trousers, but he might as well be a brave knight for the way he pries Raff's fingers off of Dayra and pushes her behind him. No not a knight, a true king. Raff pulls out his sword and forcefully takes Dayra back. Threatening Gendry. Damn.

Arya makes her next choice, she turns to Jaquen and walks up beside him, whispering in his ear so no one can hear. 'Raff the Sweetling' she whispers, and he touches her wrist to let her know it will be done. When she looks again, all three are gone. She looks back at Jaquen, but he too has disappeared.

The next day, a washerwoman finds Raff's body floating in a large tub of lye, and Arya is elated. But the third name will be the most important. She won't have another chance. The obvious choice would be Tywin, but something in her rejects the idea. She tells herself, with him gone, she will lose out on vital information and the safety of his protection. But the fact was, she'd come to like the old man a bit, he valued her intellect, and that was rare indeed. Even as she hated herself for the traitorous sentiment. She could kill The Mountain, but apart from being despicable, he also has no brains, and his death will not influence the war in her family's favor. Polliver stole her blade, but he was nothing, no one. The other members of her list weren't present, and besides, she quite wanted to end their lives personally. It would have to be Tywin.

But she took too long, he rode out to battle the following day and she lost her chance. The Mountain was now in charge, and things were even more violent and chaotic than before. She avoided him whenever possible, hiding out in dark corridors for as long as possible, sneaking in with Shelby at night.

Eventually Jaquen found her, wanting the third name.

"A girl must name a third and it shall be done." She didn't want to name a third. She still needed his help.

"I don't need another death, I need help to live." He looks confused. "Help me and my friends escape." She requests instead.

"This was not the man's promise. Three deaths was what the man said."

"I know, but. You said we were friends. I need a friend, help us escape."

"A girl would leave a man?"

"You can come too, a true friend will be welcome." And she means it. He looks truly touched at her offer.

"What a girl asks is complicated, it was not part of the deal."

"Well then we can make a new deal." She says.

"The girl requires many deaths. This a man can do, but he must have it's like in return."

"You want me to kill?" She asks. He nods. "But if I could do it myself I wouldn't need you. I'll repay you somehow, someday, but I need your help now. Please, Jaquen."

"A man can do this thing. But a girl must fulfill her promise. One day. The lives that are taken here, must be taken by your hand when you are able."

"Whose lives?" She asks suspicious.

"No one you know, no one you care for."

"When, how?"

"Time means nothing, death is death. And as for how, a man will teach a girl." She knows she should think it over, but she's getting antsy living within the walls of this hell. Her father told her to go too. She worries about The Mountain, and her brother; she knows she must fulfill her promises and somehow resolve the chaos in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Fine, I'll do it." He smiles from ear to ear.

"The deal must be made official." He says.

"We never needed anything like that before."

"Before was no deal, those were favors. This is something more, a promise, an oath, a vow."

"Blood then? Shall I prick my finger, or…" He chuckles.

"No blood, there is enough blood spilt. No, a kiss." He says. And it's the last thing she thought he would say. She wants to refuse, thinking of Gendry's kiss. But a deal is a deal. Too late now.

"Fine." She says. He doesn't move, apparently it's her that must initiate it. She presses her lips to his and finds his lips are normal. He doesn't run hot, but she'd expected ice-cold flesh. And just like that it's over, not unpleasant, but not quite real.

"A girl and her friends will walk out the front gate at midnight." He promises and walks away. There's much to plan.

Hot Pie is easiest; the kitchen is so accessible that no one thinks twice about her presence there. She tells him to be ready tonight with as much food as he can safely bring, too much will look suspicious. He agrees but looks frightened. Next she digs up the ruby at first dark. Gendry is more difficult; she has no valid reason to be in the forge. So she sneaks in through the tiny window in the forge.

Upon Gendry's arrival, Ben Blackthumb had been given small quarters in the castle, and Gendry was given the tiny bed above the forge. When she enters he is already dead asleep on the little bed, sheets pulled low, and she notices he's nude beneath. Distractions. Silent as a cat she approaches him and puts her hand atop his mouth to stifle any noises. His eyes pop open in alarm before he sees its her. She removes her hand and he whispers rather loudly.

"What are you doin' here?" His hair is all ruffled from sleep and she finds it adorable.

"We're leaving tonight, get your things and some swords." He holds onto her forearm to stop her leaving.

"What? Leaving where? What are you talking about?"

"We're escaping tonight, I've got it all figured out."

"They'll catch us, they'll kill us."

"They won't. Trust me." His eyes drop to her lips, and before she knows it, he pulls her closer and she falls onto the bed, he kisses her. She kisses him back, imagining all the possibilities. She gets lost once more, but knows she must stay focused. She reluctantly pulls away, a thousand thoughts warring for dominance in her brain. She's breathing heavily as she says, "before midnight, be ready."

Sure enough, Hot Pie and Gendry are waiting for her patiently, and she feels her chest swell with relief and affection for her pack. They trust her, they're loyal, she can count on them.

"I got rolls, cheese, dried meat…" Hot Pie starts listing before she shushes him.

"Did you get us weapons?" She asks Gendry, and he nods. He looks unsure though. She puts her fingers through his and they all walk over in a line three wide.

At the gate they see the way is open, but there are guards blocking their path. Hot Pie and Gendry freeze, certain they will be killed.

"Ari…" Hot Pie says.

"I thought you said you had it all figured?" Gendry asks.

"It's fine, he said we could just walk out." She answers, more than a little unsure herself.

"Who said?" Gendry asks.

"Jaquen." His nostrils flare and he looks angry.

"The murderer from the cage? You trusted him? What else does he know?" He's incredulous. Arya hasn't taken her eyes off the guards, she's noticed they haven't moved, not one inch; not to scratch their balls or shake out leg cramps or yawn. She keeps walking forward, and they follow reluctantly. The guards do not stir and as they pass they see gaping wounds across their necks and puddles of blood beneath their feet. They pass through the gate without incident, and Arya is sporting a huge smile on her face.

A/N: Okay, so they made it out of Harrenhall. I know I used a lot from the show here, but I did like the way HBO did it. There were a few twists, and things will really veer off course soon. Hope you liked it, please review.


	16. The Brotherhood

A/N: Sorry, I went on vacation, and when I got back I went straight to work on my other story. I hope you like it.

Shout outs-

GendryandAryabelongtogether- Nope, not a love triangle. I don't even think Jaquen thinks of her that way, and Arya certainly doesn't. He's death, oblivion, and that will always appeal to Arya.

Nadia, YourLoved, JP, and Maya- Thanks! Encouragement makes me happy and keeps me motivated.

The Brotherhood

Arya

They had made it, they were free. But there was a strong air of fear, always looking over their shoulders, waiting for Lannister soldiers to find them. They steered clear of the road, but that meant Arya was less sure of where they were going. In fact, in the mad rush of escape, she's sure they're lost. But she won't admit it, they both had faith in her, and she wouldn't disappoint them. By the time Hot Pie is wheezing from exertion rather than simple panting, she decides they can rest in an outcropping of bushes.

Hot Pie is thrilled and takes out their water, drinking some before passing it around. Gendry is going out of his way not to talk to her. In fact he won't take the water when Arya hands it to him, but when she hands it back to Hot Pie, Gendry asks the boy for a drink. Great. She's hurt, but lets him vent his frustrations. It's clear as day, she'd kept things from him, still was, and he didn't trust her any longer.

Hot Pie notices the tension and does his best to diffuse it.

"So, do you reckon we're far enough away, yet?" Arya shakes her head.

"No, we need to get farther. Tywin's off on some campaign, The Mountain won't be so forgiving." She grimaces.

"I can't believe we got out at all. Who killed all those guards?" Hot Pie asks.

"A friend." She says simply.

"A friend? He's not your friend, Arya." Gendry says angrily. She ignores him this time.

"Who, what friend?"

"Jaquen." She says.

"The one from the cage." Gendry specifies.

"The one without a face?"

"No, the Lorathi." She tells him.

"Oh, well aren't you two close then. You shared a lot of secrets then?"

"Would you just stop? He got us out of their, what difference does it make?"

"What difference? What difference, she says. There musta been at least six dead guards in there. Six! Why'd he do that, Arya? What'd he want in return?"

"Nothing." She lies. "He's my friend, that's all."

"Well, he wouldn't do all that for nothin'. He musta wanted something." Gendry reasons.

"And you, why are you helping me, Gendry? What do you want?" Say it, she silently begs, please say it. He says nothing and looks away. "And Hot Pie, what do you want?"

"Well, he's… It's different." Gendry answers for him.

"Is it? I think it's the same. I helped him, he helped us."

"How did you help him?" Hot Pie is looking back and forth between them, looking lost.

"The night The Goldcloaks attacked, the cage was on fire, they would have burned to death. I helped set them free. He said he owed me." Gendry is a little less tense at this.

"But why would you do that, why would you bother?"

"Because before that he helped me. And before that I helped him. It's as simple as that."

"Sounds like friends to me." Hot Pie comments.

"So he knows about you then? Do you know how dangerous that is? He could tell them or…"

"He won't." She says, and she's sure.

"I can't believe you told him."

"I didn't, he just knew. He recognized me, or he figured it out. I don't know."

"Wait, knew what? Who are you?" Hot Pie asks confused.

"Nothing." Gendry answers quickly.

"I know you're important. That ring was expensive."

"What ring?" Gendry asks.

"The one she asked me to swallow."

"I did not ask you to swallow it. You did that all on your own." She points out.

"You told me to protect it wit my life. I was jus tryin' to…"

"No, you did well. I'm very thankful, Hot Pie." She reassures him.

"What ring?" He asks again.

"It should be worth a lot. Maybe we could buy horses."

"We're not selling it." She says.

"But, we're not with The Watch anymore, event'lly we'll run outta food. Wid jus a bit o' coin, we could…"

"We're not selling it. Here." She says and produces the ruby to which both of their eyes get huge.

"'Ave you had that all this time?" Gendry asks.

"Yes."

"Great! We can stay in Inns now, proper baths, food…"

"How did you manage to 'old onto that all this time?" Gendry's skeptical.

"You don't want to know." She says grimacing. To which Hot Pie pulls a face.

"Well, wherever you stuck it, I don't care. You're a good little thief."

"She didn't steal it." Gendry sighs.

"Actually, I did." She smirks.

"From where?"

"The Queen."

"For fucksakes!" Hot Pie exclaims.

"There's so much you 'aven't told me. So many secrets." Gendry remarks.

"Too many. Remember? I can't tell you everything. And some you don't want to hear."

"Well, you know more than I do. I don't know anythin'. I only thought you was a boy named Ari." Hot Pie points out.

"My name's not Ari." She starts. Gendry signals her to stop talking, but she pushes on.

"It's alright, we can trust him. He's loyal. Part of our pack." Gendry's face softens at this statement.

"I'm Arya, of House Stark." The words sound good.

"Stark?!" The poor boy has turned pale white, he looks like he might actually faint.

"Breathe, Hot Pie. Jus' breathe." Gendry advises him.

"Stark, as in…"

"The Hand of the King." Gendry answers simply, calmly.

"And Robb Stark, King in the North." Hot Pie continues.

"King?!" Gendry shouts. Oh yeah, that part hadn't come up yet.

"So you're a princess then?" Hot Pie asks, not helping.

"Do I look like a princess?" She asks sarcastically. He looks her over carefully.

"Not really." He says with a snort.

"This is one o' those things I didn't wanna hear, innit?" Gendry says, looking a little pale himself.

Gendry's reactions worry her greatly, he's not taking any of this well. Each new piece of the puzzle seems to upset him and make him retreat.

"Well, should I swear fealty or sumthing?" Hot Pie asks seriously, to which Gendry laughs bitterly.

"Not to me." She says. Well, there's only one way to rip off a bandage. "To him."

"Whose he?" Hot Pie asks completely thrown.

"Don't start." Gendry warns. She ignores him.

"The only son of the late King Robert Baratheon." She states. Hot Pie is round eyed, staring at Gendry like he'll sprout another head.

"Wha?"

"We don't know that for sure… And I'm not the only son, don't forget Joffrey, the _**actua**__l_ king." Please please Gendry, don't run away from this, she pleads.

"He's not a Baratheon. His father is Jamie Lannister, which makes him illegitimate; he's no right to the throne." She says.

"I heard that. They said he's born o' insist." Oh, Hot Pie.

"But…" Gendry starts. "That's just talk."

"My father knew. When he wrote down the King's last words, he didn't name Joffrey as the next ruler, he only put Robert's _heir._ I think he meant you." Hot Pie looks flabbergasted. Gendry looks sick.

"That's crazy. That is crazy, Arya. Even if I have his blood, that don't mean I can rule. I'm still a bastard, no matter whose blood I got. No one wants me on no throne. Joffrey was raised in a palace, with servants, and learnin', and…"

"And kills without conscience, tortures for fun, cares nothing for his people. He has no real right, and everyone knows it. The Lannisters are hanging on by a thread, we just have to give the people a better choice." Give me a better choice, she pleads silently. Find me a way out of my betrothal.

"And you think that's me?" All or nothing.

"I do. I know you, Gendry. I have faith in you, I… Here." She puts the ring in his hand, wanting more than anything for him to take it, for him to choose her. He studies it carefully, taking in the stag insignia, and then drops it like it burns. Her heart drops.

"I don't want it. I don't want any o' it." He walks off out of sight, clearly wanting to be alone. She'd done it wrong, all wrong.

"Wow. I thought he was a Dornish spy." She wants to laugh, but can't.

He's gone a while, and she can't blame him. There was only so much the human mind could take before snapping. She'd had much more time to process all the facts than he had, and she still felt worn thin. None of this was fair, and she knew he didn't want any of it. It had been a vain hope on her part.

"He just needs some time." Hot Pie reassures her.

"No." She says, pocketing the ring. "He's made his choice." She says somberly.

"So? We'll still come wit you, we'll still help you."

"You don't understand, Hot Pie. Just, drop it."

"I mean, are you really sure he'd make a good king anyway? He don't even want it."

"No, he doesn't. He would be miserable, suffocated. He would hate it, all of it."

"And that's what you want for 'im? I thought he was your friend."

"You're right, Hot Pie." She looks over in the direction that he took off.

"But…" He prompts. She hesitates. "What is it, Ari… uh, Arya?"

"Only a king can dissolve a betrothal contract." His eyebrows shoot up at that.

"Whose betrothal?" At her lack of response, he puts two and two together. "Yours?"

"Don't say anything." He nods.

"To who?"

"My cousin." She says reluctantly. He curls his top lip with an 'ewww'. "We're not Targaryans for fucksakes, it's not that bad."

"So, wait, you want to marry your cousin?"

"No! Of course not. But my parents promised me to him."

"Well tell 'em you changed your mind." She laughs humorously at this.

"You haven't met my mother. Family, duty, honor. Tully words. She'll never go back on her word. The King himself would have to challenge the claim."

"So tell him, tell him that." He insists.

"No. You saw him. He doesn't want it, he'll hate it. I can't force that on him."

"But he loves you." She flinches at that.

"He wants me, he feels protective towards me, responsible for me. It's not the same." He looks scandalized.

"How can you say that?"

"Whatever he feels, the price is too high. And he'll end up hating his life, resenting me. I can't have that."

"You don't know that."

"I do. He's a smith, that's what he wants. A simple life, with a girl like Shelby. It's what he deserves. I'll not make him jump through hoops and perform like a jester for a title he doesn't even want. Just leave it, yeah. And keep your mouth shut about it."

With her father and Jon Arryn dead, it was now only the three of them here who knew Gendry's true identity. The selfless thing would be to leave him in peace. She'd help him find a place somewhere, his skill in the forge would be welcome anywhere. He'd been used enough, and she had nothing real to offer him, not even promises.

She told Hot Pie to stay put and prepare something small to eat, and then she went off in search of the stubborn smith. Only, it became apparent pretty quickly that she wasn't good at following trails, and she got lost. She couldn't even get back to Hot Pie, because technically that was 'lost' too. She went round in circles, passing bushes and trees which all looked the same. Curse her stubbornness, curse her life.

"Was a girl searching for a man?" How had he found her, how had he snuck up on her without a sound?

"Jaquen, I… Thank you. For helping us."

"The deal was struck." He says simply.

"And my payment, do you mean to collect now? I need to get home first, and I have to take care of this lot, but I…"

"Time doesn't matter. The day will come. But not yet. But a man and a lovely girl will see each other again. It is so."

"I promise." She reiterates.

"A Stark always keeps their promises." He says. "Take this." And he hands her a coin, steel, strange markings along its edges.

"What's this?"

"When a girl is ready to fulfill her promise, she will take this to any captain of Bravos and say these words- Valar Morghulis."

"Valor Mor-what?"

"Valar Morghulis, say it!"

"Valar Morghulis." She repeats. He nods, satisfied. He turns to walk away.

"Wait!" She shouts. But when he looks back at her, it's with a different face, less striking, easy to forget.

"How did you…?"

"A girl will have to cross The Narrow Sea to find out."

"Ari!" A shout from far off.

"But…"

"Arya!" The voice is closer and bordering on panic.

"Once more." He instructs.

"Valar Morghulis." She says.

"Take care, lovely girl." And he's gone.

She follows the sound of the shouting and finds Gendry looking frantic. He grabs her and holds her tight.

"Where were you?"

"I… I was looking for you." She answers honestly.

"I'm sorry."

"I was worried you would just leave without saying goodbye. I wouldn't blame you." She says, tears pricking her eyes.

"I just needed to think is all. I wouldn't do that." He assures her. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." The tears fall silently. "You've done nothing wrong. You've done nothing." She keeps repeating. Saying goodbye to all the petty fantasies she'd let herself hold onto.

"Come on." And he leads her back to Hot Pie, who has a fire going. She immediately dumps dirt on it, stomping it out.

"Oye!" Hot Pie shouts, annoyed.

"No fires, they'll see it." Gendry answers for her.

They eat bread and cheese and have a bit more water.

"Where to now?" Hot Pie asks.

"Where to?" Gendry repeats.

"I don't know." She answers honestly. She had wanted to go to Storm's End, to treat with Lord Renly. She'd liked Renly. But it was back the other way, and there was no way they'd pass by Harrenhall again. Then she thought of Stannis, who claimed himself the rightful king. With Gendry refusing the throne, she supposed he was. She thinks that's what her father was trying to tell her in the dream, Gendry's uncle. But maybe not.

"We'll just go North, then." Gendry suggests.

"All the way to Winterhell? Are you mad?" Hot Pie asks.

"If you've got a better idea Hot Pie, I'm sure we'd all love to hear it." Gendry remarks sarcastically.

"North then." She agrees. Wondering about her family in The Riverlands.

She'd never met her uncle or grandfather, but she was sure they'd take her in or at least give them supplies.

"Hot Pie, I'll introduce you as the greatest cook in all the land, and make sure you get free run of the kitchens." Hot Pie makes a squawk in excitement.

"For true?"

"Certainly. Those lemon cakes were the best I ever had. It was a wonderful Nameday present."

"It was your Nameday?" Hot Pie asks.

"I thought you said, by the second snow?"

"Up North, it's already winter." She explains.

"Happy Nameday." Hot Pie says. To which Gendry nods, as intent to avoid eye contact as she is.

"And what'll you tell them about me?" Gendry inquires, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I… I'll tell them you're a master smith, that your weapons and armor are unmatched. They'll be fighting over themselves to have you in their forge. You'll have your pick of great halls." She says, not looking at him. Feeling herself get choked up. "We should get some sleep. Who will take the first shift?"

"I will." Hot Pie offers, looking at her disapprovingly; but she doesn't care.

She lays down huddled into herself, and Gendry lays down too, close but not touching, unsure. She doesn't curl herself into him the way she wants to. She sleeps, but doesn't dream.

Her shift had been last, which meant it would be up to her to wake the others. She went off to piss in the woods first, then set out a meager breakfast for the three of them. She woke Hot Pie and told him to wake Gendry. Again he looked at her annoyed, not pleased with her decision. But she knew he could never understand. The pressure of having noble blood was suffocating, and if Gendry didn't want it, then she needed to respect that. How many times had she wished she could escape her destiny? It's not long before they're on their way.

"Let's play a game." Hot Pie suggests.

"No." Both she and Gendry say in unison. Hot Pie looks crestfallen. Oh Hot Pie, she really was glad for his presence. She takes pity on him, and really does want to take her mind off things.

"What sort of game?" She asks. Hot Pie lights up.

"Well, I'll think o' something, you ask me questions, and I'll say yes or no."

"That's stupid." Gendry remarks. Hot Pie obviously thinks he just doesn't understand the game.

"No, no, you just gotta guess what it is I'm thinkin' 'bout."

"Ok." She says. He takes a second to think of something before he nods.

"Ok, got one."

"Is it bigger than a horse?" She asks. Hot Pie giggles.

"No." She's already sorry she agreed to this.

"Is it bigger than my hand?"

"No he says again."

"Can you eat it?"

"Yes." He's excited now. Of course.

"Is it food?" Gendry participates.

"Well, yes, but…"

"There, I win." Gendry announces.

"No, it's gotta be more specific than that. It's a kinda food." Hot Pie explains patiently. Oh, this will be a long leg of the trip.

"Is it a lemon tart?" She asks. Hot Pie's face falls. She lets the smile spread across her face. She catches Gendry's smile out of the corner of her eye, and turns away. Every look is a stab in the gut.

"Your turn." He says, deflated.

"I don't think I like this game." She admits.

"Well you suggest something then." He demands.

"My brothers and I used to list off the names of the great houses, their sigils, and mottos. It passed the time." She suggests. This is met with no enthusiasm whatsoever. Well, she'd tried. They end up just walking in silence.

Out of nowhere, they hear whistling. She recognizes it immediately as 'The Rains of Castamere' and she shudders at the thought of who would sing such a tune idly. They all scramble out of sight behind a wall, trying their best to keep their shallow breaths silent.

An arrow whizzes past, startling all three. "Who's there. A lion maybe, or a wolf."

Gendry mouths 'Lannisters' and she just shrugs.

"Come on out, or I'll loose another arrow." A voice warns. Before she can pull him back, Gendry steps forward, sword raised. She silently curses to whoever is listening and follows him out. He likes that not at all.

"Put the sword down boy."

"You go on down the road. Just keep on singing so we know where you are." She demands, sounding more confident than she felt.

"Just leave us be, and I won't kill you." Gendry reiterates.

"Oh, very generous. You're a dangerous person. I like dangerous people." The scraggly leader responds with a laugh.

"And the fat one." Hot Pie sighs and comes out too.

"Three young ones on the run, carrying castle-forged steel. You from Harrenhall?"

"Who are you?" She asks.

"Thoros of Myr." From across The Narrow Sea. "And the archer is Anguy."

"No, who do you fight for?" She clarifies.

"The Brotherhood Without Banners. We don't serve no lords, we serve the people."

"The Brotherhood." Gendry repeats in a whisper.

"Now come along. I wanna hear how two boys and a very dangerous girl escaped Harrenhall." Thoros more than requests.

"We're not goin' anywhere with you." Hot Pie states. Where he got his courage from she's not sure. Anguy shoots an arrow up in the air, and he has to step forward to avoid getting shot.

They follow along, disheartened at getting captured once more. Gendry and Hot Pie both stand on either side of her, like protective shields. She wishes they wouldn't, she won't have either one dying in her stead, but Thoros has already noticed, and it would draw more attention to make a scene.

The archer keeps stealing glances her way, and she thinks, too easy.

"Anguy, right?" She asks.

"Aye."

"Where you from, Anguy?" She asks, attempting a shy smile.

"The Riverlands o' course." He responds, not taking the bait. Gendry elbows her in the side.

"And the rest o' you?" She asks. He doesn't answer this time.

"Seems like, the Riverlands, you must serve The Tullys, of Riverrun."

"We did once. But no more. We serve the people now. The ones too helpless to help themselves." Thoros answers without turning around.

They served The Tully's! Not now, but, once. As if reading her thoughts, Gendry shakes his head at her. She keeps silent, but already her mind is working furiously.

They're brought to an Inn in Darry. Thoros treats them as honored guests, and gives them brown bread and stew. They all dig in, using only their fingers, greedily shoveling in mouthfuls.

"Some ale?" Thoros offers. Gendry declines, but she and Hot Pie accept readily. It has the desired effect, Thoros stops looking at her quite so suspiciously.

"So, you were going to tell me how three children…"

"We're not children." She insists, drinking deeply.

"Three young persons such as yourselves, managed to escape Harrenhall with fine weapons no less." She takes a deep breath, here we go.

"Jon's a smith, he stole us weapons." Gendry looks queerly at her for the false name but says nothing. Thoros looks interestedly at Gendry then.

"A smith? Where'd you train boy?" He looks at her, but Thoros notices.

"King's Landing." He settles on. She might have hoped he would lie, but at least they didn't know his name.

"And you?" He looks to Hot Pie.

"I'm from King's Landing as well." He answers.

"And you, girl?" He asks.

"Same." She says. "They're my brothers." Hot Pie looks confused, Gendry looks annoyed, and the others accept it readily. All except Thoros.

"They're your brothers? You don't look nothin' alike."

"Yeah, well tell that to our mum." Hot Pie answers for her. Thoros chuckles at that.

"And where are you headed now?" He asks.

"We heard about The King in the North, figure he'll need armorers, cooks, and cupbearers too." She responds.

"Aye. I'd imagine he will." He's suspicious still. "Though I don't see why you're so anxious to suck up to them lot after Harrenhall. But go if you like. But before you do, have another drink, on us." And she does. It feels good to drink, a kind of escape. She was still lying, and she didn't think for a moment they were safe. But still, they were of The Riverlands, her mother's people. They didn't seem to see the distinction between her brother and The Lannisters though, and that worried her. Thoros excuses himself to drink with some friends, and they're left alone at the table.

"What was that?" Gendry hisses.

"What?" She asks.

"Brothers?"

"It makes more sense that way. What should I have said?"

"Nothing."

She takes a drink of Gendry's forgotten ale as well. He rips it from her fingers.

"It's better this way. The archer keeps looking at me; maybe I can get some information out of him. The presence of a husband might still his tongue."

And he's so shocked she easily takes back his tankard.

"You scare me sometimes." Gendry confesses. Hot Pie pretends to be a little too interested in his drink.

She says nothing.

"Let's go. No one's keepin' us here." Gendry suggests. She doesn't want to.

"No. These are my bannermen. They're honorable." She says firmly.

"No, these _were_ your bannermen. They said they don't serve Lords anymore. And they _were_ honorable. War changes people." He insists.

"Well, I'm not through. You can go if you want."

The drinks keep flowing, and a musician named Tom of Sevenstrings is playing in the background, it's not long before a full-fledged party breaks out.

Gendry has taken his cup far from her reach, but Anguy is happy to share with her. Especially since she's started flirting with him. Men are too easy. Gendry, for his part, is eyeing them angrily. Good. Creating distance between them is the kindest thing she can do for him. No matter if it stings, no matter if she hates seeing the look on his face. Just then, Thoros proposes a toast.

"Girl, we're badly in need of some amusement. Entertain us."

"I'm pretty boring actually." She stalls.

"I doubt that, you look plenty interestin' to me." Anguy comments, looking her over. Gendry stands up violently, holding the archer's gaze.

"Now now. I only meant a little dance. As payment for our hospitality." He counters.

"I've a better idea." She says. "How about a song?" She suggests. This receives many cheers.

"But are you any good?" Tom asks.

"I'm good enough." She responds to laughter.

"Do you know…?"

"Yes." She answers simply, earning more laughs.

"You choose, girl." Thoros encourages.

She chooses _The Roadside Rose, _one of the first songs she'd ever learned. She gets a little too into it, and it breaks her heart. Love, she thinks, the cruelest lie ever told. There are cheers and tears and requests for more. But she feels herself unsteady and requests a break. Gendry leads her out carefully, giving Anguy an evil look as they pass. She's thankful for the fresh air and for Gendry. But she knows she must be careful what she says. The last time she was this drunk, she'd said too much, and gotten her face bashed in. Not that she thought Gendry would hit her, but she could still damage her heart.

"There now, a little fresh air and you'll be right as rain." She stumbles and sits. "By the Gods, you're drunk."

"Mmm." She agrees. "I'm so tired of thinking, of caring, of worrying."

"I know." He says, putting a near shoulder length strand of hair behind her ear.

"You don't though. You can just walk away, I can't. I'm stuck. I'm a Stark no matter what I do."

"You're too proud to be anything else." He jokes. But he's right.

"And you? What do you want to be?"

"I only ever wanted to be a smith." He says honestly. She slaps him on the shoulder. And he jumps a bit in his skin.

"See. I knew that. I know you, Gendry."

"You do." He says sadly. She changes the subject.

"But where though? Name anywhere, I'll make it happen." She promises.

"I don't care."

"But you'll need a wife though. What kind? A fat one like Trudi? A curvy one like Shelby?"

"Don't. Please."

"But I want to. It will give me comfort to think of you happy and settled. When I'm laying in bed beside my pasty husband, I'd like to imagine you happy. It's the most I can hope for." His gaze is piercing then. Oh right, this is why she wasn't supposed to get drink; she had no hold on her tongue. "Please forget I said that. I say all sorts of things when I drink too much. Let's go back inside now."

"Arya…" He says, simply gazing at her. He's going to kiss her again, and damn but she wants him to. She wants to beg him to fight for her, to take on this enormous burden. She wants to slide her hands beneath his shirt and…

"Oye, enough air. You promised us entertainment, and the night's not done by half." She jumps up, saved from her selfishness.

"Lead the way." She says. And Gendry follows behind them. Her reappearance receives more cheers. They even lift her up to stand on the tables.

"What next?" She asks.

"_Bessa the Barmaid_." Someone shouts.

"No, _The Queen Took off Her Sandal_." Another suggests.

"No _A Cask of Ale_. It was one of Robert's favorites." There are shouts of agreement.

"How about _The Dornishman's Wife_ instead?" She suggests, trying to change the topic of conversation.

"Nah, _A Cask of Ale_. He loved that song, almost as much as his drinking. The fat old king, may he rest in peace." Gendry hunches over at that.

"Now now, let's not speak ill o' the dead." Thoros says. She's grateful. "Unless you tell it true. He was fat, and drunk, and he loved his whores." They all laugh.

"But he led a rebellion against The Mad King. He saved the people." Hot Pie points out, bless him.

"Pfft. Everyone knows it wadn't about no Aerys Targaryan, he didn't give a fuck about the people." Gendry's eyes are shut tight, trying to hold it together. "It was all about that Stark bitch." His eyes open at that and look at her. She looks away. Why does everything always backfire?

"How do you mean?" Gendry asks instead.

"Ain't you never heard the story o' Robert's Rebellion?" They ask him, incredulous at his lack of historical knowledge.

"I didn't get out much." He says by way of explanation. All the while, she's purposely not looking at him.

"Well listen up Lad, this is a good one." Tom starts. "Once upon a time, Robert was betrothed to his best friend's sister. Lyanna she was called. He loved her more than anything, obsessed they said." Hot Pie's looking at her too. "She was beautiful, but fierce as anythin'. She was better on a horse than any man," She does smile at that. "And she fought in Tourney's and the like. But one day Rhaegar sees her; he's married mind you, and wants her for himself. He kidnaps her, and Robert and Lyanna's brother go to war, tearing apart the whole of The Seven Kingdoms to get her back."

"What happened to her?" Gendry asks, transfixed.

"She died. They say that's when Robert gave up, married The Lannister cunt, beggin' yer pardon Miss, and drank himself to death." And he puts a hand atop his heart. "The loss of his lady love broke him." She does look over at Gendry then to see him staring into space.

"And he was a shit king. Though his son will be worse." Thoros comments.

"I heard it ain't his son at all, just a Lannister bastard." There's murmuring about this particular subject, and she's surprised the rumors have made it so far. Good.

"That's not the story I heard." Thoros pipes up.

"What? It is so, I didn't leave nothin' out. I mentioned Cersei, and The Tourney and all." Tom looks offended at being questioned.

"I heard, she wasn't stolen at all. I heard she ran off with that Targaryan. She chose him over the stag." Arya gasps, but nobody notices. She gets shakily down off the table and makes her way to a corner. Whichever version was true, it made no difference. The war was down to one person, her aunt. And down to her selfishness, she might have caused many more deaths. History wouldn't repeat itself, she'd make sure of that.

She heard singing; Tom had started up _A Cask of Ale_ without her. She pulled a mug from the table and drank more.

"That's enough." Gendry says, trying to take it out of her hand. "Was that another thing you forgot to tell me, or were you just waiting for the 'right' moment?" He's angry.

"I thought you knew."

"Everybody in the whole Seven Kingdoms knows." Hot Pie says.

"Except me."

"It's not my fault you don't listen. You bury your head in the sand and then dig yourself in deeper when someone tries to pull you out." She pantomimes digging.

"Oh, so it's my fault then?"

"Yes, it's all your fault." He grinds his jaw. "I tried to stay away from you remember? That first day. I told you to fuck off, but you wouldn't listen." His eyes flash hurt. She hates rules and lies, promises and restrictions. She hates how she can't hate her name or her blood.

"Yeah, well still you coulda…"

"I tried… But you're so… so…"

"What? What am I?"

"Adorable." His face immediately softens. Oh, yeah. That's why she's not supposed to get drunk. She hands him the cup and leans against the wall. Feeling a bit dizzy. "It's not your fault." She admits.

"It's not yours either." He says, leaning close. She reaches out and feels the stubble growing out in his chin and cheeks, unable to control her fingers.

She wants to press her lips to his, slide her fingers beneath his shirt and maybe down his pants as well and let him do whatever he likes with her.

"What are you, Lannisters?" Anguy asks a few feet away.

"What did you call me?" She makes a fist as if she's about to punch him. Hot Pie holds her back easily, damn ale.

"I meant, mostly brothers and sisters don't look at each other like that. Like they mean to fuck each other." Eyes going back and forth between her and Gendry.

"Oh shut up Anguy, and mind your own business. Why do you care who I fuck? I wasn't gonna fuck you anyway." She says, to which Gendry's eyes widen and Hot Pie gasps.

"Your loss, then." Anguy smirks before walking away. She rolls her eyes, and when Hot Pie lets go of her she nearly falls over. Gendry fights off a laugh.

"Can we go now?" He asks, and she nods. She's had enough finally. They carefully make their exit, with Gendry's support that is.

Out front, there's a commotion, a large prisoner is being brought in. She can see the burned face, the limp hair, and the grimace. It's The Hound.

A/N: As always, I want reviews!


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